


Twisted Paths Part One: It's Good to be the King

by SDAWND



Series: Blue Bliss [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal play-barely qualifies, Bondage, Cussing, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sex, idk - you're messing with the King of Hell - warning, oh and did I mention sex?, there is a bit of angst, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 60,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SDAWND/pseuds/SDAWND
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a continuation of Blue Bliss. It throws you further down the Winchester rabbit hole so you can experience even more tantalizing fun with Supernatural characters. Part One of Twisted Paths will focus on what happens between you and Crowley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

I also have this posted on LiveJournal if you prefer that format.  
**[TWISTED PATHS](http://sdawnd.livejournal.com/5224.html)**

 I have no beta so all errors are my own.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This story is about YOU, written under the assumption that you have female anatomy. If you do not identify with female anatomy then I'm sure you can find a way to adjust your mind to imagine I'm talking about someone else.  
Trust me, it's fun either way. 

 

 

 **PREFACE ** ****

Disjointed. That seems like a good word for how you’ve been feeling lately. It’s been almost a month since Sam and Dean showed up at your door with those sexy grins and a shy hello, and even longer since that world rending night in the alley that threw you down the rabbit hole into Winchester wonderland. Whenever you stop and try to image life before all that, you can’t quite remember exactly how it felt; almost like it was a former life or a picket fence dream you once had. At this point normal is sort of a dirty word, but in all honesty, you don’t mind; not one damn bit. Sam and Dean have changed your life in some pretty profound ways, and they aren’t the only ones, there’s also the cute little angel on one shoulder and the wicked tease of a demon on the other. Four men. That’s one hell of a playlist you’ve got there, and you’re kinda proud of it.

Sam was your first; deceptively quiet and gentle. He is such a delicious tease who knows how to be both caring and commanding at the same time. You can’t help but smile when you think of him, and you find it hard not to call or text him when he crosses your mind because he is so easy to talk to. Despite his gentleness and fluff, you also find yourself attracted to the darkness in him too. You know it’s there, a deep painful storm mixed with danger and mad skills; and it keeps you curious, along with reminding you of his older brother Dean. Ah Dean. He was the first to kiss you, admittedly one of your favorite moments in life to relive within your mind, and that man knows how to keep you guessing. Dean is truly an enigma wrapped in one hell of a beautiful package; sinfully pretty, rough and lovely at the same time, and his bluster is nothing short of adorable. His sharp tongue and zero F’s given attitude are all a big show though, all to hide his soft side. He defaults to either a mask of snarky humor or angry gruffness, but when you do get to see his heart, that tender part of him that cares almost to deeply, it is something to marvel at. Both brothers are so different, yet so much alike, and Dean is just as scarred and broken as “little Sammy”, but for completely different reasons.  You know that you’ll never fix either one of them; never be able to heal the gaping wounds that the past has laid bare, and you really don’t want to anyways. As twisted as it sounds, their pain defines who they are and you don’t want to change them. All you want is for them to be happy, which is probably something they have never truly experienced. Everyone has baggage right? It just makes you hug them a lot more often when you’re together, and with the line of work they are in, it makes you cherish every moment you get with them even more.

These two men have you so enraptured; and they are both equally smitten with you, which is pretty impressive and definitely amazing. When you add in the fact that there is an angel who loves you, and a demon who lusted deeply after you for a brief moment, all of it is really kinda mind blowing. Castiel was so gentle and kind and you’ve never experienced anything, before or since, quite like that moment in the warehouse. He’s popped in for a visit twice now since then, and both times were somewhat awkward and borderline comical. He didn’t stay long and both ended with him giving you an unpolished kiss on the cheek. You can’t help but think that Cas showed up in hopes that you would help him figure something out. He looked so confused, like he was trying to put a puzzle together without all the pieces, but he’s an angel and you really can’t begin to guess his reasons at all. That doesn't mean you don't wonder what's going on inside that head of his. He's so strange, and it’s incredibly cute and endearing. Perhaps you will muster up the courage to ask him what he’s thinking some time.

All of them are such lovely creatures to distract you, and a smile spreads across your face just thinking about them. Then there is Crowley. Your smile turns turbulent as you ponder the final link in this crazy chain. Crowley is your dirty little secret. You spilled the beans about the whole cupid’s grace thing to the boys, and they were so awesome when you did. Sam just smiled knowingly and Dean postured a little bit before settling into acceptance, leaving the whole situation pretty drama free. Sam openly noted your link with Castiel, probably to make sure Dean didn’t miss that little fact, and they were ok with that too; but you never once mentioned Crowley. You couldn’t. Somehow the thought of admitting out loud that you were craving the touch of a demon seemed shameful, and the ideas that you continue to have about him are absolutely and truly shameful to the point where you blush at the thought. The Cupid's grace is powerful stuff apparently and ever since that single compelling kiss in the warehouse, you’ve craved him, ached for him, even considered begging the powers that be for him to come to you. You’d think that with the other men that desire you, you wouldn’t think twice about a demon you’ve never said a word to, but he is slowly consuming every part of you; and as time marches on, your lust deepens. You wonder how long it will be before your craving for the King of Hell torments you into madness.

 

 

**TWISTED PATHS PART ONE**

**IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING**

**CHAPTER ONE**

The room smells of fire, metal, and aged leather. You can’t see; the soft cloth covering your eyes robs you of that very important sense, yet, you find it enhances all the others as you strain against your bonds. Padded leather cuffs circle your wrists and ankles and you feel the support of yet another scraping against the skin just under your breasts. You imagine you’re in a dungeon with unknown implements, crafted just for you, resting on pristine tables nearby. Gravity is your tell, painting the mental picture of the cushioned slab you’re lashed to as it tilts you back into a gentle lean, the bonds holding you open and exposed. This should be frightening; you should be rigid with terror, self-conscious at your nakedness; instead you’re whole body is pleasantly pliable and arousal pools heavy in your core. Everything is sharpened with concentrated hypersensitivity, your body responding to the slightest changes as you shift. You feel the smooth leather as it rubs against your skin, the soft threads of the cloth covering your eyes, and you breathe out a wanton sigh as you feel a warm breeze ghost across your already hot flesh. Someone is there, standing next to you.

You don’t need to see; you recognize the feel of him, his very presence radiating assured ownership of all that he desires. “Hello darling.” His thick accent and tone are undeniably provocative and you suck in a breath and shiver; your bodies’ uncontrollable response to all the salacious undertones those two simple words imply. Without warning, a single digit runs across your lips, making you whimper. You lick them once it’s gone, your need to taste him evident. When treated to the remembered taste of hot cinnamon, you moan with heated lust. Mmmmm that flavor, hot cinnamon. Not the fake kind that you find in candies. No, this is like real cinnamon; fresh and delicious, mixed with savory spices and served hot against your tender lips.

That same finger burns a smoldering trail as it slides down your cheek and neck, stirring desires that lay long dormant until now. You begin to quake as it travels down between your breasts to the strap that holds you; then it circles back up and to the side. Swirling gently across your left breast, he slowly works inward until you gasp at the shock of two fingertips lightly pulling at your nipple. Then it’s back to a single digit as he glides it across to your other breast, repeating the same pattern; your groan no less fevered when he tugs at your tender nipple, making a matching pair. Suddenly his touch is gone and you ache for its return, your sensitive skin craving his caress. You hear a wicked chuckle deep in the monsters throat as you strain against the straps, silently begging for more as your breasts, your sex, your lips, your whole body yearns for more.

“The lovely peach begs to be devoured I see.” His voice is laced with power and lust is dripping from every syllable, stirring your molten core; and your body jolts when a stubbled cheek brushes one breast. You swear you can feel every single hair as he rubs across your skin and then there is warmth, hot wet softness enveloping your nipple, causing waves of salacious bliss to shiver through your body. The monster’s mouth moves to engulf your other breast and that single teasing digit is back, running another burning trail down your flesh as it heads south. His skilled tongue, and the titillating path of his finger slowly meandering down your body, solicits shameless moans from your lips as the sensations assault you. The anticipation is killing you; desire eating at your sanity while you silently beg for relief and you feel the monster smile. You can’t see it, but you feel the wickedness of his expression as he closes the space between you; his lips hovering just above yours as you quietly pant. You want it; oh how you want so badly to taste the terror of this depraved king, and you yearn to feel his power; your body quaking from the need.

Your quivering turns to a reeling rigid delirium as the devil’s tongue dips between your eager lips and his finger slides down across the lips of your sex and then curls deep inside. His palm is teasing your clit as he moves in and out, never breaking rhythm as another finger is added to the invasion. Burning heat is roiling deep in your core with each inward thrust, and jolts of ecstasy shudder through every nerve as the monster’s persistent mouth claims you hard and commanding. You savor the taste of his tongue and your passion matches his as you lean into his salacious kisses, your hips bucking against the straps below to his skilled fingers and your neck craning above. You feel it; you’re on the edge, and at any moment you will tumble over into mind-numbing euphoria. So close, you’re so close. Thrust, tease, lick, moan, rub….. nnnnnngh almost…

 

<<< >>>

You wake with a start, the bump in the road destroying the dream that now sticks to your mind like a cobweb. Holy shit! You lay your head back down on the seat and take a deep breath, trying to steady your mind so you can remember where you are. The dream still has you reeling, and for a time you don’t care where you’re at, as you relive the sensations that felt all too real. Crowley. You dreamt of Crowley again; and it was so fucking delicious, again. It’s been a recurring thing, these dreams; the first one was when you were home, only days after you left the Winchesters. The next one was several days after that, and now that you think on it, they have slowly increased in frequency to the point where you’ve been having one almost every night. It’s torture. Complete salacious, hot as fuck torment, and you feel so worked up and so dirty when you wake up. You want him so badly, and you know it’s wrong; but those damn dreams… those dreams leave you craving his wicked attention, and you fear they will eventually drive you mad.

You rub your eyes and sit up, trying hard to shake the thoughts of Crowley while attempting to bottle up the heavy heat that’s pooled deep in your nethers. Where are you anyways? Oh yeah, the limo. Your own personal limo to be precise, and you can’t help but smile. You had an eventful morning full of travel, and then shopping, and a tasty lunch in the little town of Asheville, North Carolina; and now it’s another long drive out into the middle of nowhere. You shouldn’t even be here but you couldn’t pass up a free trip. You vaguely remember the cashier who talked you into putting your name into a random drawing; you did it so she would shut up, not once thinking you would ever win. You couldn’t believe it when you actually did, and you won pretty big. Not Mega Millions Lottery kind of big; but it’s an all expenses paid 3 day, 2 night relaxing spa weekend at the Chateau Gehenna, which is nestled deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains. All travel costs, all resort fees, all dining and alcohol; even the taxes are paid! You aren’t handing over one penny for any of this, and it’s been pretty damn spectacular so far.

You were even assigned your own personal travel assistant; her name is Betty and she’s been stupendous. She was the one who arranged everything, handling all the details so this could truly be a stress free treat. Remembering back, you giggle at your own shameful squeal of delight when you saw the limo, and you look around one more time as you cruise down the road, still not believing that this is all real. The icing on the cake was the envelope on the seat when you got in. There was a note from Betty explaining that the black sleek looking credit card was yours to command and that you could buy whatever you wanted while in Asheville; no limit and no guilt, her words not yours. You certainly did just that, your spoils of the morning scattered across the seat across from you as a reminder of the limitless guilt free fun. You also had a guilt free lunch after asking the driver to recommend a nice high-end restaurant where you could buy fancy food. Cliff is really nice, and you treated him to lunch, asking him if it would be ok to count it as his tip for being such a patient guy while you shopped. He was more than happy to join you because a man’s gotta eat, and no one likes sitting in a restaurant alone. He was such great company and so far your mind has been blown by this whole trip and you aren’t even at the spa yet. You feel like frickin’ royalty with how all of this has been handled, and it’s beyond amazing.

As the limo coasts along the highway, you find your mind replaying your dream without permission. Good God those dreams are a delicious hell. You and Sam play at bondage, most of it barely qualifying, but it’s so incredibly hot. Sam is amazing, his worship of you a heady drug, making you feel wrapped in his warmth and affection while he blows your mind. But Crowley… your dreams of Crowley are different, very different. Strangely enough, you feel just as safe in your dreams as when you're with Sam, despite the more extreme levels of bondage involved. The main difference is there are no warm fuzzy feelings with the demon and his brand of play. It’s raw lust and naked desire that flares hot and palpable and there is a layer of unspoken frustration that flavors every dream with him. You can’t help but crave him during the waking hours just as deeply as you crave him in your sleep. You sometimes catch yourself wondering if he is affected by the connection like you are. You assume he would be, but then again, he has yet to show up at your door, so maybe not. He seems the type, being the King of Hell and all, to get what he wants when he wants it. He hasn’t taken you yet, so you can only assume that he doesn’t want you. It would be really nice to know though; because then, maybe, he wouldn’t consume all your free thoughts like he is right now while you pass the time reliving the all to real sensations of the dream you’ve just had.

 

<<< >>>

Eventually the limo pulls to a stop and Cliff gets out and opens the door for you. There is breathtaking scenery from every angle; even the Chateau itself is picture perfect as it sits atop a peak overlooking the rest of the world below. It should be called a mansion or a castle more than a Chateau because it’s huge and solid, heavy stonework skillfully crafted in a renaissance style layout. It’s very impressive; but strangely not intimidating, despite its stout bones. The air is crisp and clean, and the only sounds are the wind, and the gentle trickle of water from a lovely little fountain nestled amidst a well-tended garden. You don’t see any other cars as you gaze around in quiet awe and the crunch of gravel beneath Cliff’s shiny dress shoes sounds loud and amplified amongst the peaceful silence of this place. Your eyes follow him as he pulls your bag from the trunk, gathers your shopping bags, and then heads towards the entrance. You catch up and thank him for his efforts, taking several of the shopping bags so he doesn’t have to carry everything as you walk through the heavy wooden doors. A beautiful woman is waiting in the foyer and Cliff quickly deposits your bags on an elegant little rolling cart and you do the same with the ones you’re holding. He gives you a smile and a wink, making sure to say, “It was a pleasure to spend the morning with you.” Before heading back out the door, leaving you alone with this new stranger.

The woman gives you a warm smile as she introduces herself. “Hi. I’m Betty. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” Oh, so this is your personal travel assistant. It actually is pretty cool to meet her in person instead of being a faceless voice on the phone; you’re also relieved that she’s here, because this unknown place full of unknown people feels a little daunting as you look around. After you return the hello, she pulls on the little cart carrying the bags and beckons you to follow her. The place looks empty as you head through the maze of earth toned hallways and she passes the cart off to an attendee before leading you up a wide staircase that opens up to a spacious lobby where a large table and vase decorate it’s center. The area is circular and there are five doors at geometrically perfect intervals, each with a roman numeral burned into the dark wood surface. Number three is directly across from the stairs and that’s where she leads you. There aren’t silly little plastic cards that slide into locks like at a hotel, instead it’s an intricate cast iron handle with a latch and she swings the door open on its silent hinges.

Betty has been talking to you during the entire walk from the lobby and you really haven’t been paying any attention at all. She’s been saying times and mentioning wraps and massages and all things spa related, and you wonder if you should ask her to repeat it; which would be really embarrassing. “Here you go. Get settled in and you’re right on time, so your mani-pedi will be coming up soon. Don’t worry; we’ll all take really good care of you this weekend, I promise. Don’t stress about remembering the schedule I just told you because someone will be by to collect you when it’s time for each spa treatment. So just relax and enjoy yourself. A list of all the amenities is in the pamphlet that’s on the table along with your personal itinerary. Cheers.” Betty gives you another warm smile as she walks over and opens the door with a number one carved into it. You stop her, asking if she’s part of the staff. “Oh no honey. One of the perks of my job is that I get pampered just like you. It’s a pretty good gig.” You watch her with raised eyebrows as she gently shuts the door behind her, and then you turn your attention to room number three.

It’s enormous, like one of those fancy penthouses at a ritzy hotel and everything feels wonderfully fresh and clean. You don’t have that usual twitch of wondering who used this room last and if everything was really cleaned like it was supposed to be. You can’t quite place how it feels other to liken it to someone’s well-kept apartment, comfortable and friendly, rather than a hotel room. You figure that’s a close enough description as you take in the gorgeous view, soaking up the picturesque landscape while opening up every single curtain to let the natural light flood the room. A storm is slowly rolling in and you’re standing there savoring the beauty of it all when you’re cell rings, making you jump; shattering the serenity of the moment. Your face brightens when you see its Dean. “Hey girl. Just callin’ to see how things are going.” He can hear you smile as you tell him things couldn’t be better, “Good to hear. Hey, we’ll be in the area, so do you mind if we stop by for a visit?” Dean’s voice takes on that suggestive tone and your body immediately heats up. Darn it. You almost wish you were home right now because a visit from the Winchesters is always amazing, but you turn to the view outside and you don’t regret it as much as you should. There’s always next weekend, right? Sigh. Damn. You stop yourself before saying that out loud because you’re already here and you can’t change that, so you remain happy with the decision to take advantage of this “me” weekend.

There’s still regret laced throughout your voice when you tell Dean that you’re not home. “Damn.” He doesn’t even try to mask his disappointment and you giggle silently because his reaction was the same as yours. “Gone huh. All weekend?” You roll your eyes because Dean is so transparent. It’s adorable, and it’s cute that he’s trying to be nonchalant and failing miserably at it. You smile again and explain about your lucky prize winning and all the awesome things you’ve done so far. “Uh huh. Yeah. Cool.” Dean tries not to sound bored and disappointed at the same time as you talk, and he fails again, making you realize that you’ve been rambling and gushing. Thank god he can’t see you blush as you stop talking. Diverting his attention, you ask how they’ve been doing. “What? Me and Sam? Yeah we’re fine. Just came off a case in Idaho, nothing major, small potatoes.” You chuckle at his pun, wondering if he’s truly that adorkable without even trying. You chat for a little longer and then the conversation gets really interesting. Dean gets naughty by asking what you’re wearing, down to the color of your panties. He follows that up by describing how he wants to strip each item off you in deliciously elaborate ways. Dean is such a terrible tease because he isn’t here to follow through and it’s frustrating and fun for both of you. You’re interrupted by a knock at the door, reminding you that it must be time for your mani-pedi; regrettably you tell Dean you have to go. “Damn. Ok. You better believe that we’ll continue this very important conversation later.” You grin as you hang up, knowing that Dean will be true to his word. You answer the door to find a lovely woman with a cheery disposition. She waits patiently while you change into the complementary bathrobe that smells of lavender. Your body is still humming with the desire Dean has stirred up, mixing tortuously with the memories of your dream, as the attendant leads you downstairs to the spa where you proceed to get pampered.

 

<<< >>>

After a wonderfully relaxing manicure and pedicure, with a facial thrown into the mix, you’re told that you’re free to roam the grounds or go back to your room and that you’ll be notified when dinner is ready. The storm that you saw is lightly sprinkling rain outside the windows, so your room sounds like the better option. There are signs directing you, making it easy to find your way back to your suite where there is a surprise waiting. Your bags are nicely arranged on the table by the window and there’s something else; a black box adorned with an elaborate burgundy ribbon, which you’ve never seen before, sits on the end of your bed with a small note attached. It’s a little hand written message, in a beautiful script, requesting your presence for dinner at seven sharp. It also asks you to wear what’s provided. You’re betting this is some sort of weekend initiation dinner where all the people staying at the spa have a big hello dinner so you can make friends and all that jazz. It’s a little strange, because you haven’t seen a single guest this whole time and considering the size of this place, there should easily be a dozen people roaming around. You gently remove the ribbon and open the box; you gasp at what’s inside. It’s a beautiful black dress, and it looks really expensive. You’re a little shocked by that and kind of freaked out that it’s exactly your style preference. There is matching lingerie with it, black and lacy and lovely, and it only ads to the freak out factor.

Betty, yeah it must be Betty who did this. She just wants you to look nice for the other guests. You take off your robe and proceed to try everything on. You walk into the bathroom so you can see yourself in the full-length mirror and it’s amazing how good you look. The dress fits you perfectly; emphasizing all the right parts in all the right ways, like it was tailor made just for your body. You stare at yourself for a time, mesmerized by how a dress could look that good on a person, and then you finally peel your eyes from the mirror to look around. That freak out factor comes back full force when you see that every product and utensil you like and/or need is in there. It’s all brand spanking new, seals and peels untouched, but it’s all the same brand names and all the same items that you would find shoved into drawers and nooks and crannies at your own home. Everything from shampoo to makeup and it must be coincidence; yeah, it’s just a freaky coincidence, that’s all. It takes a little effort, but you manage to brush away the unease by freshening up and putting some effort into looking good before dinner.

You get done early and decide to call Dean, snapping a flattering selfie to send him before you dial him up. He still asks for pictures of your naughty bits when the mood strikes him and you figure it will be a nice tease. You sprawl across the settee in your new black dress with your hair looking lovely, and you feel sexy as fuck when Dean answers the phone with a wolf whistle. “Damn woman. I thought you were at a spa, not the Oscars.” A huge smile splits your face as you tell Dean not to be a dope, but you make sure to thank him for the compliment, reveling in his reaction. “Heh. You know, I remember exactly where we left off and I like that black dress. I’ve got even better ideas running through my head with that tease of a picture you sent.” Dean is so cruel, and he tortures you with dirty words and descriptions of those “new ideas” you’ve caused while you stare absently out the window; your sights turned inward to visions of Dean. By the time there is a knock on your door, you’re hot and bothered and regretting that he isn’t in the same room, or even the same state right now.

You kick Dean off the phone, but not before he tells you exactly what he’s about to do while you’re on his mind; you practically melt into a puddle right there. Damn that sexy wicked tease of a man! Now you will be hopelessly distracted imagining how Dean will look while stroking himself to climax, and you wish, badly, that you had time to do the same thing while thinking of him. You’re sexually frustrated and it suddenly reminds you of the dream with Crowley, of being teased and tormented to the point of climax but not allowed to tip over the edge into bliss. You try to suppress the salacious shivers all of these thoughts are giving you while following the attendant down to the dining area. The torment makes you a little slow to notice that you’re still alone in this big place, but when it finally sinks in, those thoughts are quickly pushed down and replaced by apprehension. You don’t see anyone else in the hallway to the dining room, and that unsettled feeling creeps back up when the attendant gestures for you to enter the dining hall without leading the way. There’s a wall blocking your view into the room and you hesitate. The attendee just smiles and waits patiently for you to go in so she can close the door behind you. Timidly, you enter the room, unconsciously holding your breath. Unexplainable nervousness churns your stomach and you’re on edge as the door closes behind you; shutting out the world with a quiet click of its latch. You straighten your spine and try to look confident as you walk around the partition and into the main dining room.

The paint is dark and warm, the curtains are large and overbearing, and the floors are a deep blackened wood that makes this room feel like a setting straight out of the movies, sultry and romantic. There are several tables with burgundy linens draped seamlessly over their round surfaces, each with a bouquet of red and black roses nestled into an intricately decorated vase at their center. Soft classical music is playing from hidden speakers and the room is empty except for one table that has been set for two. One chair is already occupied and the breath you’ve been holding is suddenly sucked deep into your lungs, and your eyes go wide in shock and disbelief. Sitting at a slight angle, looking nonchalant and smug while he twirls a red rose in his fingers is the King of Hell himself. Crowley.

 

<<< >>>

Crowley. You don’t move, your mind and body simultaneously screeching to a halt at this unexpected meeting. Immediately the remembered taste of hot fresh cinnamon and Crowley’s commanding tongue overtake you, like that surprising kiss back in the warehouse just happened. You aren’t sure whether it’s terror or arousal that warms your body when his attention pulls away from the rose in his hand so his gaze can lock onto you. Those shrewd eyes slide down your body and then back up again before a smirk tugs at his lips, “Hello darling.” His voice is just as you remember it, just as you dreamt it, the deep roughness of it adding to that suggestive accent. “Fancy some dinner? Renaldo is preparing an exquisite cut of kobe beef, bathed in a vintage white wine sauce and seared to perfection.” You still don’t move despite Crowley’s offer, your limbs silently shivering with conflicted emotions that hold you in place. “He’s an excellent chef you know, one of the best in the world, and a sucker for a good deal. Trust me, his soul is absolutely worth _that_ level of talent.” After another minute of staring silently at him like an idiot, your mind struggling so hard to process, Crowley’s eyes go flat and annoyance teases his features. “No need to be shy peach, you look lovely.” He points the rose at you and then flicks his wrist; you see the glint of satisfaction in his expression as you slide across the floor towards him. You aren’t moving, but yet you are, some strange unseen power whisking you forward without permission. It’s frightening and amazing. It’s as if invisible hands are pulling you to him, and you make an unflattering meeping sound when that invisible power gently curls you into the waiting chair.

Crowley laughs with genuine mirth, not spiteful or condescending, at your reaction; and you relax ever so slightly, despite the fact that you’ve never seen or felt anything like that before. Your body is currently tingling pleasantly from that little display of power as Crowley smiles, “You know love, I don’t bite.” His voice is a salacious purr as he leans in, “unless that’s what you’re into.” Your eyes have lost their saucer-like status but your features are still etched with tension and you can’t find the capacity to respond to any of this. You aren’t sure whether you should run away screaming or crawl across the table and nip at his wicked grin. You’ve wanted him so badly for so long and now here he is. You know who and what he is which terrifies you, but the memory of that kiss has you humming as the King of Hell sits across the table from you… and you swear he’s flirting. With you! What the hell is a girl supposed to do? Nothing. Nothing sounds good. Nothing sounds safe and non-stupid, so that’s exactly what you do. Nothing. Crowley gives you a deliberate smile, his acknowledgment of your inner turmoil. “I bet you’re wondering why I’m here, aren’t you pet? Well to be perfectly candid, you intrigue me.” Tingles shoot through your body. He’s been thinking about you? Holy shit!

He sits back in his seat, still fiddling with the rose in his hand and you watch his fingers, wondering just how skilled those digits really are. “Back in that warehouse, when I came in to save the day during that little fiasco; I expected to find the Winchesters, those bastards always stick their fingers in everyone’s pie.” He makes a face at that. “I even expected to find their pet angel Castiel, whom you know intimately I do believe.” Crowley gives you a knowing look and you flush hot with embarrassment, suddenly wondering exactly what you looked like during that particular part, and if he maybe liked what he saw. “But…” He pauses and looks you over thoroughly for a moment, like his eyes are removing the little black dress you’re wearing. He leans forward, “I wasn’t expecting you.” The way he says that. It’s so titillating, and your breath catches; desire stirring deep in your core at the implication behind those words.

Crowley goes silent, letting that statement hang, and thank god a server suddenly appears with a rolling cart. The King continues to eye you as the man sets down a salad in front of each of you, followed by pouring two healthy glasses of a dark sweet smelling wine. You suddenly come alive, snatching the glass off the table and taking a gulp. Crowley dismisses the server with a passive flick of his hand, and once the bottle has been embedded in a silver ice bucket and set on the table, the server quietly bows before heading towards the door. Before the man has even made it out the room you’ve downed the wine, noting that it tastes pretty good, and hoping that there’s magical courage somewhere in it’s aftertaste. The King of Hell chuckles as he leans in and pours you another glass. He’s smooth and gentile which makes you relax just a little bit more; just enough that you say out loud that you weren’t expecting him either. He looks up at you with his brows raised, those piercing eyes locking with yours as his hand mindlessly deposits the bottle back into the ice. “Ah. So she does speak. A beautiful voice to match a beautiful visage I must say. I can see why your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.” Flattery will get you everywhere; so will humor, and you can’t help but smile at Crowley.

“Unexpected is my favorite way to be pet, and I assume that statement is meant to encompass both the past and the present; as far as the past, it doesn’t surprise me that the Hardy Boys never mentioned that they’re besties with the King of Hell.” It’s your turn to raise surprised eyebrows, because no, they never mentioned it, not even after the warehouse incident. “Don’t look so shocked love. Sam, Dean and I go way back, we’re practically family.” Your face must be betraying the inner turmoil he’s suddenly stirred up because you’re sure he’s exaggerating their relationship, but why didn’t they ever say anything. “Don’t be to hurt darling, unless those two louts have had a personality transplant, neither one is much on sharing; and I personally guarantee, that in all actuality, you know very little about the Winchesters.”

Quickly, you mentally skim over your history with them and you know a good bit about them, or at least you think you do. Maybe. Maybe not. They’ve told you so many stories, but when you really think about it, they haven’t told you any deep dark secrets or anything; you don’t even know who’s died in Dean’s past to make him so protective and angsty. You realize a frown is creasing your face when Crowley points it out, “Your look says it all peach. They’ve been happy to save your life because that’s what they do, and they’ve been more than willing to bend you over to play hide the sausage,” You blush dark again, “But don’t fool yourself. The Winchesters are a breed all their own, and while you may be allowed to play, you will never truly belong.” Those words hurt and embarrass you, and suddenly you’re really pissed off, which gives you a spike of bravery, allowing you to snap back a retort before you think better of it. You point out that he doesn’t know anything about your relationship with the boys and that what he said was a real douche-bag move; then you end by announcing that you would never trust the words of a demon. When you get to that last word, you almost bite it off, making it sound like an insult.

“Oh. So there is a little fire and spice in there. Hmm.” Crowley is so smug and it’s apparent that he really enjoyed your little outburst, a lot. He smiles as he sits back in his chair, arms raised in feigned submission. “Fair enough. I won’t say another word about them, and you don’t have to trust me at all love; in fact, I suggest you don’t.” He flashes you a charming smile. “Just do yourself a favor. Web search a gentleman by the name of Carver Edlund when you have some free time, it’ll be a real eye opener.” You immediately sear that name into your mind, even though you’re sure it’s some sort of trick. By this point your apprehension has dissipated, but the roiling pool of desire is still churning despite that little dick move on his part; your lust a continual maddening distraction in the background as you attempt to stare coldly at the King of Hell. With a touch of terse spite, you stab at your salad and ask if he’s here because he wants something. You manage to sound pretty put out, like he’s ruining your entire evening, when in reality he’s winding you up tighter.

His tone is condescending, “My dearest peach, we all want something.” He leans forward, his eyes capturing yours; piercing deep into your soul, exposing the dark desires you’re trying so hard to fight as his voice lowers to a quiet purr, “Even you… want something.” Good god, electric tingles shoot straight to your sex and your heart suddenly hammers in your chest. You’re afraid of the desire, the yearning, the lust, so you try to veer off this salacious path with another question; this time asking Crowley how he knew you were here. You wonder if your voice sounds as breathless as it seems and his gaze is still locked on you when his lips curl into a wicked smile, “Well I do own this humble little abode.” Then his eyes release you as they skirt across the expanse of the room, and you suddenly feel freed from an invisible chokehold. You take in a deep breath as he leans back, his demeanor changing to something more relaxed, and you try to remember when exactly he had become so intense. “I’ve even made sure you were treated like royalty, and you haven’t even offered up a thank you." He suddenly hands you the rose he's been holding and his tone turns wistful, almost playful, "I’m almost insulted by that; then again, so few truly appreciate my talents and my perks.” Your mind flashes hot with images of Crowley’s possible talents as you gingerly hold the rose he's given; and you become acutely aware that every feeling you have is slowly being replaced by wanton desire, consumed and conquered by your yearning to experience the King of Hell.

As your lust curls up hot and undeniable those last words spoken by Crowley suddenly spark revelation. Crowley did this! This was all an elaborate setup! Crowley made all of this happen, probably right down to that annoying woman who made you enter your name in the contest to “win” this trip, and you can’t help but be impressed, and deeply flattered, that he went to all this trouble for you. Holy shit! Crowley really has treated you like royalty so far; you even used those words yourself, and you have to give him kudos for knowing how to spoil a girl. More than likely that little epiphany is written all over your face when Crowley asks, “Has Betty been taking good care of you love?” You immediately realize Betty is a demon; hell, everyone in this building is probably a demon, and you would bet that there isn’t a single other guest in this whole damn place, because Crowley owns everything and he does what he wants. There is a glint of power behind those brown eyes as he continues, "I only ask because sometimes she can get a little out of hand when she tries to please me." Good god this is crazy! Sexy and crazy and Crowley is certainly both of those as he sits across from you. Your mind hiccups at the thought of crazy sexy Crowley with that level of control over someone and you can't help but wonder exactly what he _wants_ to do with you, which sparks a hot shiver down your spine. A coy smile crosses your face as you tell him Betty’s been great and you follow up with a sincere thank you for the gift.

“You’re welcome… and I’m glad to hear it, because I’d hate to kill her; she’s actually very useful.” That statement is like a confusing punch to the stomach. It was so nonchalantly violent and horrible, but yet his complete confidence in his own power is alluring. You’re instantly reminded of your dream where he had total dominance and you were begging for more; aching for it like it was air you needed to breathe. As if he didn’t just threaten someone’s life, Crowley looks around, taking in the quiet ambience of the room before he states, “I should come here more often; it really is quite relaxing." He pauses, "Or perhaps it’s the company.” His gaze comes back to you. “You set me at ease love, which is a true rarity considering my line of work.” His silver tongue is back to flattery again and you can’t help but savor the compliment regardless of what he really means by it.

He’s a demon and the King of Hell and you wonder exactly what he’s thinking while locked onto those deep chocolate orbs that are equally studying you back. You decide it’s time to test the connection between the two of you. You find it to be faint and almost fragile. You gently pluck at it, curious to see if it’s just like the other three you have. Big mistake. Big fucking mistake, because just like plucking at a guitar string, it begins to hum in your mind, amplifying every single dirty wicked thought you’ve been trying to suppress and deny yourself. Little bits of emotion play across the line and feed into you straight from the demon’s mind and you are overwhelmed. Crowley’s lust is palpable and heady; it’s just a small taste across the fragile thread, but it’s powerful and breathtaking as it heats up your entire body and you stifle a gasp.

You blush and break eye contact because you’re instantly hooked on the feel of it and you're sure you've never wanted something so badly in all your life. You take another gulp of wine, trying your best not to drown in the delicious idea of Crowley seducing you, claiming you, dominating you. “Ah. There it is, the elephant in the room.” Shit! He felt you testing the connection and now he knows for certain that you’re aware of its existence, and you aren’t sure that’s a good thing for him to know. A salaciously wicked smile curls his lips and you see it gleaming in his eyes as they bore into you; but the moment is shattered as the server suddenly flits into the room holding two steaming plates of food. Crowley’s smile melts to a look of annoyance as he glares at the man like he’s planning his long slow torture because of this interruption. You revel in the fear suddenly etched across the servers face when he realizes he’s displeased the King. Wait? What? When did you become such a sadist? You should feel sorry for that guy, or demon, or whatever; instead you are hot and wet and craving a display of the King’s power. To your inappropriate disappointment Crowley doesn’t do anything; he just gives the server a severe stare until he’s left the room, and then his features soften as he turns his attention back to you and the steaming dish of food.

Crowley appears to be back into a relaxed state as he cuts into the steak that’s artfully displayed on his plate and he looks at you expectantly before he takes a bite. Like a silent command, you obey him by mimicking his actions. It’s decadent and your mouth is pleasured with the flavor and texture of what this man, no, this King has provided. He smiles when you moan shamelessly in appreciation, savoring the flavor; and when you’ve swallowed, you quietly thank him. “Two thank you’s in so little time, I must say, I’m all a flutter.” You can’t help it, you pluck at the thread again as you chew on another tender bite of steak and you’re flooded with overpowering lust which only wrecks you further; you barely remember to swallow as it washes over you. “We should have a toast, don’t you think?” You’re pulled back towards reality enough to breathlessly ask what you’re toasting. “A toast of things to come love.” The subtext in that statement has every nerve vibrating, and your sex is quivering as Crowley gently clinks his glass against yours, “Most definitely for things to come.”

 

<<< >>>

Good god this creature sitting across the table is reducing you to a pliable puddle; how can this monsters words and his mere presence have this much effect on you? You know it’s the connection, but the Winchesters have never even come close to this level of torment with theirs. He’s a demon. You absolutely have to remember that Crowley is a demon, and you have no idea what that means. You know next to nothing about what kind of power or skills or tricks come along with that title and you find yourself wondering what it would feel like to be claimed by a monster. Every demon you’ve met was terrifying and violent, but Crowley… he’s a different kind of evil. You know he’s stained with blood and violence, and if you asked, he would gladly tell you of horrors that would send you howling to the loony bin; But his power, mmmmm his power. That assured mastery of his domain and his quiet subtle dominance is so fucking hot; and you get lost in the thought, pondering what would happen if this devil claimed you, opened you up, and took you to the core.

You’re pulled from those speculations, realizing too late that you were lost in thought, when cinnamon and spice suddenly overwhelms everything. Somehow you're standing in Crowley’s arms and his tongue is aggressively dipping between your lips. Holy fuck! What the hell? How? You don’t care how. It’s delicious; your desires finally fulfilled, and it feels better than you ever imagined. You delight in the flavor of Hell and melt into him, kissing him back with hunger. As your fervor matches his aggression, the fragile connection between you suddenly blasts wide open, like a dam bursting, and the full wave of Crowley’s ravenous lust washes over you. Holy mother of fuck! What was overwhelming before is unimaginable now as Crowley's thoughts, his desires, his aggravated lust lights up every nerve and brain cell while his tongue dances with yours. You helplessly shudder through an orgasm, his mind and body overtaking you. His hands are holding your head, commanding its movements as he steals your shuddering whimpers, and that invisible force is pressing you against him so that you feel his solid erection against your thigh. You’re drowning, and you have no desire to be saved, as you’re lost in the feel of it all;  riding the wave of decedent euphoria.

“Jesus peach.” Crowley pulls his lips from you; his expression laced with craving, and you can see he’s surprised, but appreciative of your response to just a mere kiss. “I had such lovely plans.” He comes back in, pulling another kiss from you, “of torment.” Another lick of his skilled tongue in your gasping mouth, “Of making you wait till bursting.” He tips your head to the side, claiming your mouth hard, “But I see…” Another kiss, “No… I feel…” He growls that last word, Your need,” Crowley grinds you against him with unseen hands and he steals your gasp with hunger, “And I’m inclined to admit my needs are similar.” His accent adds thick layers of seduction to his gravely purr against your lips, “and I want you. ” Your whole body is shivering from his touch, and his attention, and his words course hot lust through your limbs. Your nails claw at his jacketed back while your tongue explores him with desperation. You suddenly feel a strange displacement of air that forces you to look past the exquisite creature you’re tasting. This is somewhere else, where? Your own room? Yes, there are the shopping bags in the corner and you recognize the view for the brief moment you allow yourself to look, and you moan at the power this delicious monster has. “Like that peach?” Crowley smiles against your lips and then he pulls away. His thumb is firmly caressing your cheek as his eyes slide up and down your body, and you ache for his lips to return.

Crowley’s hand roughly slides up into your hair, jerking your head back so he can lap at the soft skin of your neck, his scruff scraping pleasantly as he hums against your skin. You are completely pliable, whimpering quietly as he pulls your head back further so he can bury his face in your cleavage with a growl. His free hand roughly gropes for your nipple, causing your body to quake when he finds it. He’s being sloppy, and you both know it, but neither of you cares because just touching is causing fireworks, and you gasp out his name as you feel  Crowley’s voracious appetite continue to flow through the connection. His beard scrapes up your skin, sending shivers in its wake; then his tongue thrusts back inside your mouth and you attack it, sparring with it, your breath messy and loud as you gracelessly pull his jacket free so it can fall to the floor.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re mildly surprised to feel the firm muscles of Crowley’s back when you slide your arms around him.  He groans against your lips as he pulls you in tight, his hand firmly gripping your ass.  His tie and crisp dress shirt are still keeping you from feeling his hot flesh and your orgasm is waning, but you’re still worked up, craving so much more than just his tongue invading your lips. You know Crowley heard those thoughts when he whispers, “Wanting it all, are we pet?” His voice vibrating against your mouth feels delicious and you gasp out a yes against his. Crowley chuckles as he licks his way down your neck, and you let go of him when you feel the straps of your dress being pushed off your shoulders. The little black dress, which you're now certain Crowley bought just for you, drops to the floor. You suddenly feel exposed and it’s so tantalizing. His hands glide across the matching lingerie that still covers your most intimate parts; your nerves tingle at his touch. His fingers caress the lace that complements your breasts while he purrs, “Be careful what you ask for from a demon darling.”

Crowley’s words, intermingled with his roaming hand, cause shivers. You melt into his touch, letting out little moans of appreciation as he explores. You want to play too, so you reach out your hand to cup his erection. Your eyes fly open and your body stiffens as your fingers stroke the fabric of his suit pants. Holy shit! Does the King of Hell have a canon in there or is he just happy to see you? With his fingers still laced in your hair, Crowley pulls your head away from him so you can see the impish smile that crosses his face. You move in to claim his lips; your hand still stroking what feels like something very impressive, as your tongue spars with his once more. He revels in your attention and reciprocates by running his hand up your inner thigh and brushing his fingers against the lace that’s covering your tormented heat. You gasp into his mouth as your hand claws at his back, and the other grips his crotch tighter. Crowley’s thoughts continue to flow through the highway of your connection, supplementing the delicious feel of his teasing touch with intense supernatural lust.

You want to please him, so badly you ache to topple over the edge into bliss with him, so your hands slide up his body and your fingers search for the buttons under his tie. “Ah. Ah. Not yet.” Crowley pulls away to see that you’re confused, and his smile turns wickedly salacious. He takes a step back and you realize how naked you are compared to his almost fully clothed state. The only thing you’ve removed is his jacket, leaving his shirt, tie, pants, and even his shoes are still on. You stand there unsure of what he wants until he gives you a little nod and says, “Zipper only love.” Now you understand and you can’t help but obey; without hesitation you drop to your knees at his feet. Crowley is looking down at you, and you take a moment to savor the anticipation, running your hands up and down his clothed body before gently tugging on his zipper. It takes very little effort to free his shaft from his pants and your eyes go wide again as you take in the full splendor of the King of Hell.

You aren’t about to whip out a ruler and start measuring, but he is noticeably larger than either Sam or Dean, and you’re impressed and a little frightened at Crowley’s size. You look up into the demon’s eyes as you wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft and you see his smug satisfaction at your compliance twinkling beneath those auburn orbs. You run your tongue up the length of his cock and then wrap your lips around the tip before looking back up at him. You’ve wiped that expression off his face and replaced it something else, something far sexier, and you want to see more of it. Your lips slide down so that Crowley is buried deep inside your mouth and you hear a quiet moan from the King. Deep throat or not, he is way too much to handle so you stroke his shaft with your hand while continuing to lube him up with your eager mouth.

Crowley likes what you’re doing because you can sense his pleasure through the thread and feel his knees bend into it, his muscles tightening as you stroke and suck and repeat. You catch glimpses of his face when you can, as you find a nice rhythm with your hand and your lips, and you shudder, relishing in the knowledge that he’s struggling to keep his eyes on you. He wants to get lost in the feel of it, to unravel and melt away, but you feel his iron will and dominance coursing through the thread and he maintains composure. He sees you watching, and Crowley grips your hair, tilting his pelvis into your downstroke, forcing you to focus on the task at hand while he lets out another lustful groan. Your lacy panties are wet from your ever-building desire, and with each tilt of his hips you wish his cock was filling up a different part of you. The thought of him driving his thick shaft deep into your sex fuels you on harder and the feel of Crowley slowly coming apart at the seams by your handiwork, despite his efforts, is like a drug. He can’t hide it from you, his appreciation is palpable; his breath now short huffs, and his moans are more frequent and appreciative as you work him with fervor.

It’s suddenly a challenge, to see if you have the skills to wreck the King of Hell, and your mouth comes alive against his throbbing cock. One of your hands grips his shapely ass, pushing him into you, as your other hand strokes harder and faster. You hum a gluttonous moan against his shaft and the vibration makes Crowley hiss with pleasure and his fingers tug on your hair; but you don’t stop, your only focus being to please the monster in your mouth. Crowley breaths out a surprised, “Fuck me.” As you overload his senses and his grip tightens. You feel his muscles tensing with tremors of bliss; you’re almost there, so you kick into overdrive. You suck, thrust your tongue, stroke, moan, gasp, and repeat until Crowley grips your hair in both of his fists. You feel his head snap back so that he can growl at the ceiling while bursting hot and hard behind your stroking lips. You squeeze your eyes shut as you struggle to endure his powerful release, the intensity of it sending you to the brink but not over. Mission accomplished, he is wrecked, but your core is churning with overwhelming need as you hover at the edge of the precipice, aching for your own release.

Your pliant when Crowley pulls you from his spent cock and you look up at him while on your knees, both of you panting and bleary. Your lips are slick and swollen, your hand aches from stroking and your body is on fire with pent up lust as you lock eyes with him. Crowley’s face is red and you can barely see the color in his eyes from the dilation as he stares down at you with a breathy smile, “I must say…” He tugs on your hair and you quickly stand up, complying with the unspoken command. “I underestimated you.” You manage a sly smile as you straighten your spine and steady your breathing. His fist is still tucked into your hair and he pulls you close, his lips a millimeter from yours. “Here’s a little something to think about peach.” He pulls a kiss from you and it’s rough and passionate. “You underestimated me too.” You don’t like the sound of that and you search his eyes, testing the connection between you.

Oh. Oh no. Damn it no! What a big fucking cock tease! No! You feel his intentions, dripping with the urge to torment you. Why? Why would he do that? Crowley shoves his tongue between your lips again and you kiss him back, your mouth attacking his with desperation, a silent plea for him to change his mind. He chuckles against your spit slick lips and then that unseen force pulls you backwards onto the comforter. Crowley stands at the end of the bed; his cock now tucked away, and he smooths his dress shirt while he stares down at you. “Don’t be angry love, I’m only returning the favor.” You look at him confused while he smirks and straightens his tie, which puts Crowley back to looking crisp and aloof again. “I will see you tomorrow.” It’s an order, not a request. “Dinner. Seven o’clock, and this time we’ll get room service.” His grin is less than innocent as his eyes rake over your mostly naked body. “I like the view from here.” His gaze breaks away from you and his demeanor turns casual. He stares out the windows into the darkness as he says, “This has been lovely fun pet." He turns back to you with an amused gleam in his eyes, "Ta.” Then Crowley is gone with a snap of his fingers, leaving you alone and so fucking sexually frustrated.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Author's Note: Chapter one was odd for me because I didn't have a story direction and it was a lot of setup. On top of that Crowley was being stubborn and I wasn't sure how to handle him. He and I have had a little talk since then and I think you will find that, moving forward, things will get a lot more satisfying, although no promises that he won't be frustrating. ;) Also, I decided to divide Chapter two in half so Chapter three should be out soon.  
Enjoy

 

**IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING  
** **CHAPTER TWO** ****  


<<< >>>

Always a curtain of darkness, but the soft cloth against your eyes is a pleasant comfort. The same aromas from before, the tang of metal, the musty scent of aged leather, and the hot dry smell of fire. You feel the gentle sway as you hang suspended from structures unknown. You’re wrapped in soft silken cords, each one firmly hugging your torso, arms, and legs in an intricate pattern. You’re comfortable, the weight of your body dispersed evenly throughout the spider web of ropes wrapping your frame, and you can feel each point where a hook has been fastened to intricate knots that have been carefully crafted. Gravity paints the picture, and you imagine what you must look like, an invitingly macabre piece of tantalizing art as you hang horizontal to the floor… if there is a floor. Normally you would be concerned about where you are, but you’re sure it’s exactly where you’ve been so many times before, and you know exactly who’s coming. All you can do is wait for the monster, and the suspense is delicious as you revel in the comfort of the encompassing bonds, finding enjoyment in their security rather than fear in your confinement.

A warm breeze announces the King’s entrance. You moan softly at his presence, your anticipation building with each breath. “Hello Darling.” Those two words stir your core and you twist within the tight braiding, causing your body to sway lightly. You want him so badly… and he wants you. There is only a moments hesitation between his greeting and the sudden feel of the monsters mouth against yours; his strong hands grip your hair as his tongue explores between your parted lips. Shivers run across your skin with abandon as heat builds between your open legs. The King claims you hard, almost desperate, and his lust burns hot against your lips. You express your own eagerness by tangling your tongue with his as you struggle to keep his mouth against yours. “You look lovely.” Words purred against your flushed cheek, and desire shoots through every nerve as you pull in a shuddering breath. You’re certain now that you are a work of art; you can feel it, an elegant structure of beauty as you hang in front of him. You wonder what color the ropes are; do they emphasize you in delicious ways with the delicately artful pattern that you sense teasing your skin? This is the work of the King, so without a doubt the answer is yes, you are magnificent.

Disciplined hands gently ghost down your body as the demon explores, his fingers tracing the exquisite criss-cross of the ropes and teasing your flesh with their tender touch. You are completely his, and the beast is indulging in the undeniable power he has over you. Your skin warms at each appreciative touch and you hear the hum of approval in the demons throat as he sees you reveling in his attention. Your breath quickens as the monster moves further down and a moan escapes, long and wanton, when you feel his lips whisper across your inner thigh. Your body is suddenly quaking with impatience as he skims his hands along your legs, and you can feel his presence as he draws ever closer to your aching heat.

Without warning there is warm wet pressure, and you gasp at the feel of the devils tongue sliding up the swollen lips of your sex. He pauses for a moment to savor, tormenting you with his absence. “Mmmmm, such a delicious peach.” You whimper; your body convulsing when he presses back in, causing you to sway as his mouth devours you with hot breathy moans. Like a glutton, he feasts as you twist and shift. Good god it feels divine, his tongue licking, nudging, thrusting, sliding; and you sigh with pleasure as lips press, pull, and tease. You’ve been on the precipice for so long and you feel each lap of his skilled tongue pushing you closer to the edge. You’re right there; the fall into bliss within reach, ready to swallow you like the monster’s appetite between your legs. The ropes hug your body; the silk a comfort against your skin and the demon’s hands on your hips are like hot vices as he consumes you with lustful abandon. Moan, lick, shift, tense, lap, pant, tease, gasp, slide; so close… you’re so close.

 

<<< >>>

A knock at the door shatters your sleep and you sit bolt upright in bed. Your heart is racing, your sex is aching, and your mind is foggy from the cobwebs of sleep as you steady your breathing. Knock knock knock. Oh, right, there was someone at the door. After snagging the robe off the end of the bed, you haphazardly throw it on as you stagger to the door, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you go. You open it, not caring that you look like an addled mess, and a smiling gentleman with a rolling cart of food greets you cheerfully. You stare and blink as he tells you good morning while rolling the cart past you so he can park it in the middle of the room. You mumble a good morning back and he nods in acknowledgment, a flash of amusement in his face as he exits quickly. You stupidly gawk as your eyes follow him down the stairs until he’s out of sight, leaving nothing but an empty lobby to look at. You close the door and run your hands down your face, trying to work up some blood flow to your startled brain.

Well that was abrupt and embarrassing, but you aren’t really awake enough to care. You shuffle over and sprawl on the bed as your mind wanders back to better things, and you begin to replay the dream you were so rudely awakened from. Mmmmmmmm Crowley. Will the dreams ever stop? Always to the edge, but never a release. You frown. That’s right, no release. You switch from revelry to frustration in an instant when you remember last night’s activities. You finally got to taste him again; you’ve wanted it ever since the warehouse so long ago, but now you can’t help but want more. That bastard left you hanging. Crowley stirred you up, hard, and then he took his pleasure and left while you remain unfulfilled. The worst part is you can’t squelch the churning lust in your core; you still crave him like an addict who needs a fix. God you want him, and that damn dream just made things even worse. You let out an exasperated sigh. Pleasuring yourself last night after Crowley disappeared was futile. Nothing you did worked; nothing sent you over the edge, and you’re almost certain that prick knew that’s what would happen. What a bastard. You hate him so much right now… but…. but at the same time you also want to fuck him so hard and so raw that it’s almost shameful. Damn it. He’s like an itch you can’t scratch and he’s driving you insane. Everything that happened last night was just one big dose of foreplay and Crowley isn’t playing nice, not nice at all… but he certainly is built nice… well-trimmed, dapper, and hung like a fucking horse. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He really is the devil.

You’re frowning again, and you decide its time for a distraction; so you snatch your phone off the bedside table. There’s a text from Sam. ~Good morning. Did you sleep well on foreign sheets?~ You immediately smile, you can always count on Sam to brighten your day. More often than not he sends you a good morning text, simple little stuff, but it always brings you joy. Sam shows that he cares; he’s one of the only guys in your life right now that does, and when he doesn’t text you, it makes you worry because it means he’s on a case. If you weren’t so frustrated right now, you’d melt, but all you want to do is vent, so you text him back. ~Had better nights. Having you here with me would have been nice.~ You immediately regret that text; Sam will worry, he won’t understand that you’re just frustrated. Damn. Well it can’t be taken back now, so you lay the phone down and focus on breakfast by wheeling the cart over to the little table near the windows. You pull the domed lid off to reveal a delicious array of food; there is way more than you could ever eat and it all looks so amazing. You sit down and tuck into the tasty noms; as you eat, you notice there is a little neatly printed card with a list of spa treatments and times next to each one. You study it, assuming it’s your schedule for the day and you almost choke on your food when you see the last entry. Clearly written in the same block print is “7pm - Private dinner in suite three”. All that does is stir you back up again. You chew absently while staring at the mountains outside. Despite the big distraction named Crowley, you’re still aware enough to note the beauty of the moment, and you savor the view as the peaks slowly turn to molten gold from the sunrise.

Just as you decide you’ve had enough food, the phone rings on the bed behind you. It’s Sam. You sigh. Double damn. You’re right, he’s worried, and he’s to far away for you to reassure him with the connection, and you can’t tell him why you’re frustrated, so you answer the call with a quiet hello. Sam sounds pretty chipper when he says, “Hey. Good morning.” You sheepishly return the greeting. “Figured I’d call to say thank you for torturing me.” You can hear the smile on his face but you’re confused, how did you torture him? You ask him that exact question. His voice has that teasing lilt when he responds. “Heh. When you tell a guy that you wish he was in your bed last night, and then you aren’t within driving distance… well… I classify that as straight up cruelty.” The light tone in his voice is contagious and you can’t help but smile. Before you can respond, he continues, “If you had sent a picture to go with that message I woulda had a solid case for court woman. Open and shut. Guilty of cruelty in the first degree.” You chuckle along with Sam, with a quiet and heartfelt sorry tucked in alongside your laugh. “Although…” Sam drags that word out, “Dean did show me the picture you sent last night. Gotta say, you know how to wear a dress, and I hope you can model it in person sometime.” He’s still being playful but you hear the suggestive undertones dialing up as he goes. “Dean and I will have to take you out somewhere nice when you get back from this trip. Maybe dinner… and then dessert?” You swear he’s waggling his eyebrows on the other end of the line and you can’t help but giggle as you tell him that sounds amazing. Sam is so awesome because you feel better already.

“So are you gonna tell me how all this happened or am I supposed to survive on the four word description Dean gave me, which was… and I quote… ‘she won some shit’.” Sam sighs heavily, “Isn’t my brother a great story teller?” You laugh at his sarcasm and this time you try not to ramble while describing where you are and what you’ve been doing; and you’re one hundred percent sure to leave out any and all mention of Crowley as you go. “Well all that sounds pretty awesome.” He sounds impressed, “So why was your night so rough?” Now he’s curious. Shit. You weren’t expecting that direct of a question. You manage to parry by telling him this place is just so different than any other you’ve stayed in and it’s throwing you off your game or something kinda like that. “Uh huh.” Sam’s voice is flat, like he isn’t fully convinced, but he doesn’t press for more, which makes you breathe easier. “Well I’m sure they’ll have you sorted out by the time you leave.” You agree and then Sam moves the conversation to a close. “Speaking of, I suppose you’ve got a full day ahead of you. Let ‘em work their magic; trust me, those places are built to please. Enjoy it while you can. I’ll check in on you later.”

You hang up and stare out the window, your phone tucked under your chin while you process. Now that Sam’s voice is gone, you’re back to turmoil and uncertainty because his last couple sentences have you stirred up again. Why did he have to word it like that? It was innocent, but right now your mind is far away from innocence. Crowley has been working his “magic”. Crowley is certainly “built to please”; and, you really do want to enjoy of much of him as you can, while you can. Damn that devil bastard! Why did Crowley leave you hanging so horribly? Why? What was it that he said? “Just returning the favor.” That’s right, he did say that, but what did he mean? He left you hanging….. because…. you’ve left him hanging? That can’t be right, it’s not like you’ve been tormenting HIM in his dreams and consuming HIS every waking thought for all these weeks.

Holy Shit that’s it! That’s exactly it! You have been! Oh my God! It’s just that simple! You HAVE been torturing Crowley; torturing the fuck out of him! The thread goes both ways, duh, and if he’s been experiencing the same things as you, he should be foaming at the mouth as much as you are. Jesus! It’s suddenly crystal clear in your mind. How could you be so thick? You didn’t even catch that you were cock-teasing Sam with your text just now, so of course something like this just didn’t register. Between focusing on your own torment, and with Crowley never showing any interest in you at all… until now, you had no idea. Why in the hell did he wait this long? If he’s been feeling your desires through the connection, even if the thread between you was weak, it’s still incredibly potent. Like, a lot, a lot more potent. Oh… uh oh. Does that mean he experienced your dreams too? You whisper out an expletive as you grope for the chair behind you. You stare blankly out the window, mind completely blown with these new revelations.

You’re brain is a mess as you replay the last couple of weeks. There have been so many dreams, so many daydreams, and so many naughty little thoughts. Good god. Have you really been torturing the King of Hell? Holy fuck! Who would have thought that was even possible? Wow. Your stunned, and, you’re kinda proud of that little proclamation at the same time. You sit, facing the beautiful view; your whole room bathed in brilliant morning sunlight while you chew on this discovery, and you aren’t sure how to feel about accidentally torturing the demon King of Hell.

 

 

<<< >>>

You’re finally pried from your thoughts when a smiling attendant collects you for the first treatment of the day. You try not to think about the fact that she is most likely a demon, just like you try not to stare at her face for any sign of black eyes. Oddly, you’re more curious than afraid, and you wonder whether that’s ok or not because just yesterday the thought terrified you. You’re left alone to soak in a mineral bath and you loosen up, letting your worries slip away because it’s wonderful and relaxing. After what seems like a lovely forever, a little gong sounds, telling you it’s time to get out. As you towel off, you notice that you smell amazing and your skin is silky smooth and almost glowing. You wrap back up in your lavender scented robe and it’s a little creepy being all alone as you slide on your slippers. This place is so empty, and the attendants don’t hover; which is kinda nice, but it also means you’re alone until they collect you for the next treatment. Right on cue, Clara, your attendant for the day, directs you to the massage parlor, where she tells you to lay on your stomach with nothing but a towel covering your bare rear end.

She leaves you to get underdressed in private and you settle down onto the table after tossing your robe on a nearby chair. Despite your nudity, it’s almost a relief that you won’t be alone for this session and you find yourself relaxing into a pliant lump on the table as you wait for the masseuse. Quiet music plays from speakers in the ceiling, some sort of temple music, and the smell of incense and spice lulls you into a calm stupor. Eventually you feel a presence nearby, and your eyes flutter open when a gentle palm settles between your shoulder blades. Your face is pressed into the hole of the massage table and it works like a blinder, narrowing your vision and capturing your head. As you fight the lull of relaxation, you vaguely register polished black shoes below you. It doesn’t immediately click, your mind thickly pondering why a massage therapist would wear such nice snazzy dress shoes instead of being the barefoot hippy type; then there is a whisper in your ear. “Hello darling.” Adrenaline ignites your body, your eyes widen, and your body tenses. A wave of lust courses through every nerve and a surge of remembered dreams that begin with those two words flood your mind. When you realize that Crowley’s hand is pressed against the bare skin of your back, you almost make an inhuman noise.

Crowley feels your turmoil, and your tension, so he makes shushing sounds as he places his other hand on your lower back, gently kneading your flesh in a slow rhythm. “Relax love. Relax.” The surprise passes quickly and you find yourself settling. Obeying his command, your body becomes pliant once more, but your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest as his fingers slide up your back and then down to the edge of the towel covering your ass. You’re body is malleable, but inside you’re a raging mess of fear. You’re afraid to speak, afraid that you’re voice will betray the storm of terror, lust and craving that is all because of him; so you remain quiet while the King of Hell plays at being a masseuse. Why are you so afraid?

He sounds smug when he finally speaks, “It’s good to be afraid of me pet. It’s healthy.” Crap! Why are your thoughts flowing through the thread without your permission? You didn’t want him to know that. Crowley’s voice shifts, “But.” Almost tender as his hands slide up to your shoulders, and he leans in close, “I don’t ever want you to think I’ll hurt you. Your pain gives me no pleasure… which I find very interesting.” His fingers drum along your skin while he toys with that thought for a moment. “I usually like pain.” He sounds almost disappointed, so um… yippee… you guess. If that’s supposed to be reassuring, it didn’t really help. Or did it? Maybe. Grrr. You don’t know how to feel. Alone in your room it’s so easy, but when he straightens back up, and his hands start making circles along your back, you find it hard to focus. The more Crowley touches you, the more you melt into it, savor it, and now that you think about it again, you’re not afraid anymore.

Crowley sounds distracted; probably focused more on his hands, then on his tone. “Now. Returning your torment back on you…” You hear him hum with pleasure, “Well now.” He pauses, “That’s satisfying.” You can feel his smug grin as his hands continue to play along your flesh and you aren’t sure how to feel about that statement. It sounds a lot like ‘returning the favor’ from the night before and you wonder if you’re right about torturing him all this time. You remain silent as his palms slide along your skin. He isn’t really massaging you, it’s more of a firm caress, and the feel of him ghosting along your flesh brings to mind memories of tight silken ropes, the monster’s appreciative touch teasing your nerves, and his breath warm between your legs. Your dreams always feel so real, as real as this moment in time right now, and your body heats up at remembered sensations that intermingle with current pleasures. Crowley sounds like a pompous teacher when he breaks up your thoughts, “Ah. Speaking of torment. Exhibit A.” Wait, what? Is he talking about your dream? His tone turns salacious, “Thank you for the reminder of your latest torture darling, it was exceptional.” What the fuck!? You aren’t sending these thoughts through the thread, so how is he…. Oh. Oh no! You don’t have to send them! It’s not like the other connections… It’s a gateway! Your mind is an open book and this demon can see whatever he wants! Holy shit! No!

You’re mortified by that realization. It’s so exposing; every deviant thought you’ve been having laid bare for Crowley to see. You were right. He has been hearing your thoughts, but it’s worse than that; he’s heard every goddamn one of them! He’s witnessed every single dream and he knows how much you’ve been craving him. Oh god! You want to run and hide, to get away so that you can die of embarrassment under a rock somewhere. You curl your knee and push up from the bed with your hands, hoping that you can roll off and keep the towel covering you while you flee; but you’re stopped short. That invisible force Crowley controls presses you down heavily, flattening you on the bed while his hands rest gently on the small of your back. You’re trapped. He chuckles, “Beginning to understand how it is aren’t we?” You’re panting, panicked like a caged animal as the King holds you down. Terror. Fear of what he thinks, you don’t want him to look at you, so you fight, but he’s too strong. He leans in close, so close that his stubble scrapes against your cheek and you whimper, struggling between fear and pleasure. His voice is a quiet purr, commanding yet reassuring. “As much as I love the smell of fear, I don’t like it on you. Calm down peach” He rubs his scruff against your cheek purposefully and his tone brightens just a little, “You know… it’s not as bad as you think.” Along with his words, sensations suddenly flow through the thread and into your mind. Crowley’s thoughts bombard you. Desire, pleasure, the ache to touch you, to feel you shiver with wanton need, the yearning to have you fall to pieces with the power of his hands. That’s what Crowley wants. It’s overwhelming; just like the night before, when the connection burst open, it consumes everything and washes out the waking world. Your fear evaporates; replaced by something new, something more powerful. “Mmmm that’s it.” His scruff scratches at your cheek again as he turns his head to lightly nip your ear. “Much better.” The tension melts away, he feels it too, and you’re suddenly on fire with the desire that’s coursing through your mind and body. Quiet words are breathed against the space just behind your ear as his nose nestles in your hair. “I wanted; no, I needed for you to know what you’ve done to me pet.” Crowley’s lips press hot against your skin and you feel him suck a mark into your flesh. “You’ve tortured me in ways that no one else ever has” He moves down, making another mark before continuing, “And I must say…” His lips are at your ear again, tickling, sending shivers through you as he finishes the sentence in a quiet gravely whisper, “I like it.”

You suck in a breath at that confession. Holy Christ! Crowley leaves those words hanging as he slowly trails kisses along your shoulder and you yield to the tide of thoughts flowing over you; it’s easy to get lost in them, so many match what you’ve been craving for so long. Your body heats up with each new wave and a pleasured sigh escape your lips when Crowley’s hands resume their gentle exploration. It’s almost as if he’s worshiping your body, and you sense his eyes following his fingers as he goes. This feels so good. The King of Hell isn’t angry or upset; he’s horny. He is so turned on right now and it’s glorious. You’re hit with another wave of lustful thoughts through the open thread and you gasp at the unnatural force behind it, reminding you that Crowley is more than just a man. Yes, more than a man, your body shivers at the thought of his unknown power. The demon senses your awe and hums a note of appreciation while his fingers continue to play along your skin. He likes that you’re impressed, and he enjoys the thought of your curiosity, but he still wants to comment. “Curiosity killed the cat, love.” You smile; and you can’t help it; you can’t help wondering how it feels to touch him and what it would be like to have all of him shoved inside deep and hot. The more you wonder what he’s like, the more worked up he becomes, which is feeding back to you. It’s a deliciously endless cycle that you don’t want to stop. “Mmmmm peach…” Crowley’s sentence trails off as his hands move down, skirting across the towel that’s covering bare skin underneath. He’s such a tease. Disciplined palms glide down each leg and back up again and you’re aching for him to go up under the towel. Please. You want him to invade you with skilled fingers or to devour you like he did in your dream. Please Crowley. Lust pools between your legs and you want so badly for him to touch you there, even if only for a moment, and you hear his breath quicken as you silently beg.

He slides the towel off and you feel triumphant, your nakedness adding to the urgency of your needs and building the anticipation. He wants to, oh how he wants to watch you twist and moan while he drives you mad; you feel his desires through the thread as his palms continue to run up and down your legs, but he’s holding back. He’s waiting, torturing you both. Finally those teasing hands slide up the back of each leg, headed straight for your sweet spot; you suck in a breath, anticipating a burst of pleasure, but they disappear just before they get to your aching heat. You moan in aggravation. The bastard. You try and move, to twist out of the hold he has on you, but it’s futile. Abruptly Crowley’s face is against yours, his breath a quiet chuckle against your cheek. “Impatient.” You feel the sharp sting as Crowley smacks your ass, the resounding slap of flesh against flesh filling the room instantly after. Your sex clenches and quivers at the sudden violence and you moan when his teeth graze your ear. “We have been waiting a long time, haven’t we?” You breathlessly whisper yes as he gently bites your lobe, and you welcome the feel of another slap when his hand comes down on the other cheek; your ass is throbbing pleasantly and his hand is making it hot when he keeps it planted where he hit. You whisper out another yes, wanting nothing more than the wait to be over. “Mmmm pet, you are something to behold.” You moan at those words; reveling in the enjoyment you feel through the thread and your body is aching from the anticipation, your flesh tingling pleasantly where it was assaulted.

Without warning Crowley’s face disappears from beside you and his power wraps around you like silken ropes. You’re lifted, rotated, and then it’s pressing your spine down into the table, all in the space of a heartbeat. You’re panting as you stare at the ceiling, trying to process this new angle, wondering what Crowley will do next as you lay on the table completely exposed. You stop thinking when you’re treated to the warm pressure of Crowley’s weight on top of your naked body. It’s surprising, lovely, and it feels so fucking good when the fabric of his suit jacket scrapes against your nipples. Only a moment passes before his breath is hot against your cheek and his stubble brushes your lips; then his tongue invades you, thrusting deep inside and stealing your air. Fucking yes! You’re suddenly free to move and you come alive, your hands clawing at his hair, pulling him down into you with desperate hunger as you kiss him back with unmatched need. He tastes so good, and the feel of his frame pressed against yours ignites every nerve, and you writhe beneath him as you devour each other with fervor.

For a time you consume one another, tasting, licking, biting, panting; then abruptly Crowley stops, pulling away so his eyes can lock onto yours. Everything seems to halt for a moment as you both stare, eyes glazed with lust. You want him; you want all of him. Without thinking, your fingers wrap around his tie and you pull it free from his buttoned jacket. Your eyes never leave his as you lick your smiling lips and your hips curl so that your sex presses against his aching erection; all of it meant to be an invitation and a show of your appreciation towards the King. Crowley likes that. He likes that a lot, and a devious smile tugs at his lips. Then he’s on you in an instant; his mouth pressing heavily against yours and his cock grinding against your heat. You moan into his mouth as your hands slide back up into his hair so that you can once again pull him harder into you.

You get lost in the feel of Crowley; lying naked under this delicious demon, his suit rubbing torturously against your skin and his throbbing shaft pressing against your pelvis as a silent promise of what could be. You’re lost, deliciously lost. Crowley finally abandons your lips, leaving them raw and swollen and his beard scratches down your cheek until he stops to bite your neck. “Lovely peach.” It’s painful pleasure, and you buck your hips up against him as you moan. His stubble grazes down your skin and you feel his whole body shift lower, causing his tie to rub across your sex while his mouth engulfs one nipple and then the other. “Mmmmm ripe.” You moan his name as he worships your breasts with heavy wet kisses and his tie continues to tease, gently rubbing across your sensitive heat. Bucking your hips again, aching for more, you feel the demon smile against your flesh because he knows it’s torturing you. “Deliciously ripe.” He uses one hand to press the silky cloth against your sex. “And juicy.” Your fingers rake at the table and up into his hair; and you arch your back, pressing your breast deeper into his mouth. He hums against your skin as he rubs harder, the silk of his tie shooting pleasure throughout your body as it torments your clit; and it feels so good. Holy fuck does it ever feel so damn good, and you groan his name as you revel in the euphoria. “Fuck me peach.” Crowley sounds surprised as he pants between licks of your nipple and you writhe and twist while you share sensations over the thread. You’re both unraveling; basking in the splendor of each other slowly coming apart. You’re so close; your body is vibrating on the edge and you want nothing more than to throw yourself over.

Crowley slides up your body and before you can mourn the loss of his tie, you tense, gasping out a labored –yes. The bare tip of his erection is pressed against your entrance and you have never wanted something so badly in all your life. Yes, so much fucking yes! Your hands grip his still clothed ass and you pull at him, almost sobbing as you struggle to pull him down into you. “Mmmm, we’ve waited long enough love.” Crowley’s tongue dives between your lips and you scream a silent yes while he slowly pierces you; and he lets out a pleasured groan as he slowly invades you. Crowley is enormous, filling you up like no one ever has, and you stop breathing. Your mouth is frozen in a gasp and Crowley runs his stubbled cheek across your lips as he struggles through the overwhelming feel of your silky heat, breathing out a surprised, “Holy mother of sin” when his pelvis finally presses against yours, all of him sheathed deep inside you. For a time, both of you remain locked in a suspended state of unmoving bliss. It feels so good, so fucking good. “Fuck me peach.” Appreciative surprise again. “Fuck me.” Disbelief at how good it is for both of you. Shivers rack your body as he strains to maintain control, both of you shaking from the overwhelming fulfillment of the connection made. It’s so powerful, leaving you both breathless and on the edge.

You’re both so fucking close to coming. Neither one of you wants to wait anymore, but neither one of you wants it over so quickly. You finally exhale loudly when Crowley moves; he’s slowly pulling back so that he can slide back in deep. You suck air deep into your burning lungs and then you forget to breathe again when he pushes back in thick and heavy. Slowly he picks up the pace and every movement is resplendent as he moves in and out, in and out. Your hands grip his head and you stare into Crowley’s eyes while he drives into you again and again. Wild and glazed with pleasure, those reddish brown orbs bore into you as he grunts through thrust after thrust. He’s still shaking and you know it’s for the same reason you are. Your eyes never leave Crowley’s as his pace quickens, and you gasp in time with his rhythm. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Explosions of euphoria cascade through your body with each down-stroke and you refuse to break eye contact while he growls through each passionate intrusion. You feel his control slowly breaking, you feel his absolute and total pleasure; you feel his entire being focused on you, and it’s ecstasy, pure ecstasy. He dips down again, his mouth stealing your strained gasps once more, and it’s too much; the waves of rapture being shared, the feel of his hungry mouth against yours, the hot weight of him against you, every snap of his hips, all of it overwhelms you. You’re orgasm is blinding, unlike any you’ve felt before, and your body goes rigid, your mouth frozen in a silent breathless scream as Crowley presses down onto you, shoving himself aggressively inside you with feral growls. You’re locked in place, a statue of absolute pleasure, as he works you deep and hard. Your vision blurs, your mind suddenly unable to process thoughts, but you swear that burning red eyes are watching as you’re swallowed up in the delirium of the moment. Then the demon releases, his cock throbbing against every inch of your insides and the world dissolves completely, truly drowning you in a wave of rapture and your mind goes blank. Blackness turns to a muddy white as you slowly come back down to earth. You vaguely register the scent of fresh cinnamon as you finally pull air into your lungs again; your rigid limbs slowly melting in time with Crowley as you feel built up tension leave his body as well your own. He hums as his mouth nips at your panting lips, and your entire form is trembling, as you lay pliant beneath him.

Instantly Crowley’s weight and heat are gone and you pull enough brainpower together to realize that you want the feel of him back. “Well that was unexpected.” Your eyes are glassy, and it feels like your vision is shaking along with the rest of your body when your gaze slides over to take in the view of him standing beside you. Crowley is still fully dressed, damn it, and he’s back to his usual crisp aloof self again. You marvel at him, how can he be so calm and collected after that? His hair is smoothed down, his cock tucked away. He looks so tranquil as you tremble limply. The bastard. His tie is back in place, and as he tightens it up and straightens it, a sly smile tugs at his lips because he heard you think that. “I look forward to later, peach.” He’s tone is suggestive, not wrecked or labored and you hate him for that. “Ta.” Just like before, he snaps his fingers and he’s gone, leaving you limp, shaken, and helpless; but you can’t really complain because for the first time in forever, you’re satisfied.

No one comes to collect you and you’re deeply grateful for that, because it’s a while before you finally gather enough spirit to sit up and let your legs dangle off the table. With shaking hands you manage to get your robe on; then you shuffle back to your room, probably looking like a zombie as you go. After a stop by the bathroom to clean up, you collapse on the bed, hugging one of the many pillows decorating the California King. Satisfaction. Fulfillment. Enjoyment. Exhaustion. Four of a thousand thoughts and feelings swirling through your fogged mind as you lay there comfortably spent. You’re pretty sure Crowley is the king of understatements because “unexpected” doesn’t begin to cover what just happened. That was insanely intense and straight out fucking crazy amazing! You smile weakly at your own thoughts when you liken everything that just happened to a plot straight out of a porno. Honestly, you don’t mind the comparison at all, but you immediately feel a bit slutty. Meh. You don’t really mind that either, because you were just fucked sideways by the goddamn King of Hell! 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note:  
Um, I don't really like to do warning tags for two reasons  
1\. they kinda ruin things or give false impressions or make you expect things that don't happen  
B. I kinda don't know how to tag this anyways so I'm sorry if this breaks you in some irrevocable way  
Note of the note:  Went and peaked your curiosity and gave you false expectations didn't I? oops

 

 **IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING  
** **CHAPTER THREE**

<<< >>>

It’s the same place as always; the same smells, the same enjoyment of being bound and at the monster’s mercy. You wait patiently; arms behind your back, laced up tight, knees firmly planted wide on the smooth floor as the silky bonds tightly hug your naked body. This time you can see, and you like the view. You ignore the room, it’s irrelevant, the only thing you care about at the moment is standing in front of you; the focal point of everything. He looks magnificent. As always, his black suit is crisp, his tie straight, his shoes nicely polished and you ache to know what he will do with you. You go to speak, daring to ask the monster what he desires, and you realize that you’re gagged. It’s a simple harness; one with an O-ring, and you can’t help it when the tip of your tongue runs along the metal that’s pressing your lips wide open and inviting.

The monster gets closer, his pelvis only inches from your face, and gentle fingers brush through your hair as he tilts your head back so that his shimmering red eyes can stare into yours. They are terrifying and beautiful as they gaze down at you; crimson pools of malice. They shift and change like ripples on a pond, mesmerizing you as his face curls into a disturbingly pleased smile. “Hello Darling.” You suck in a breath at those words, reveling in the way his lips wrap around each syllable. Your body shivers and the ropes creak softly as you lean upward with a moan; the only way you can convey that you want him. Smooth and predatory, the beast crouches. You track his every movement as those liquid eyes get close enough for you to feel the very heat of Hell emanating from them. The demon’s breath is warm against your cheek as he rubs his stubble against the leather harness. His lips brush along its edges, teasing your skin before they skim across your quivering lips. You sigh softly, leaning into his touch. The monster nibbles your top lip and then he laps at the ring stretching you wide. You whimper softly as your own tongue licks outward, trying desperately to taste him, and you hear a quiet chuckle as he captures it between his lips with a sinful smile. The flavor of fresh cinnamon delights you as he suckles your tongue; a warm comforting pressure; so strange and so good. Then it’s gone and he pulls away to stand back up.

The beast unzips his pants and he sees the terror on your face as you stare up at him. Your body is trembling with a potent mixture of fear and arousal, and you know what he’s about to do. You shiver when his fingers card through your hair and you nuzzle into his touch just before his palm presses against the back of your head; the beast’s gentle command for pleasure.  Your eyes have never left his, but now they slide down his body, following the line of his tie until they come to rest on his rock hard cock. You don’t move. Your mouth is harnessed open and waiting; his hand rests firmly on the back of your head, all he has to do is step towards you or press your head forward and his monstrous piece would slide mercilessly down your throat, but he remains still. Like a standoff, you stare at his cock while his eyes burn into the top of your head. You’re afraid. He’s waiting. The realization clicks into place; HE is waiting. He isn’t going to force himself on you; he’s waiting for YOU to make the first move. Marveling at that thought, reveling in this power of choice you’ve been given, you lean in until the tip of his shaft presses past your o-shaped mouthpiece. You savor the feel of it when the monster tenses; you delight in the sound when you hear him suck in a pleasured breath. He twitches between your lips, and the demon’s fingers turn into a fist amongst your hair as he slides deeper into your accepting mouth. You can’t help but moan at the pleasure he’s feeling and you never close your eyes, making sure to take enjoyment in all that you are allowed to see as he slowly unravels above you.

With sight and choice, comes awareness, sudden knowledge that for the first time, you recognize that this place isn’t reality. Good god it feels so real, so tangible; so absolute as he slides in and out, in and out. It isn’t though, it’s a land of gossamer desires and things that never were; yet, there is so much potential in this realm. You marvel at how the King fits so easily in your mouth, how it feels so good to take him in deep and your sex heats at the feel of him sliding against your harnessed lips. Oh the things you can do here; yes, so much potential. You get lost in the motion, swallowing him completely and then feeling him glide back out, in, out, in, out; and you revel in his grunting moans as you slowly unhinge the monster. You feel his pleasure, it radiates from him like the heat from his terrifying eyes, and you shudder at the sensations flowing over you. As you take him in, down to the root with ease, you gaze upward, enjoying the pleasured rhythm as your core turns to a molten pool of salacious need. The King’s hand is quaking, his grip on your hair tentative as he moves it in motion with you. Deeper, deeper, faster, he sets his other hand against the back of your head and his pelvis tilts in time with each down-stroke and it’s magnificent to watch him. It’s divine to witness his satisfaction and you relish the sight when the demon’s head tips back in pleasured revelry, his lips whispering quiet blasphemy to the sky. Your sex is aching, eager to have him within its depths, but yet you’re satisfied. The promise of his release, and the yearning to watch him shatter from your actions is a far more potent drug. You feel him tense and you moan, the anticipation a delicious torment. He’s almost there, so close to blissful release, then… everything begins to fade. You drift, like a balloon released outdoors, floating further from the feel, the smell, the flavor… away. Away until it’s all gone and there is nothing but darkness.

 

<<< >>>

Dreams are such a curse lately. Crowley is always in them, always tormenting you. The things you do and the things you feel… Torture. Absolute torture. Your eyes flutter open and you crave his touch. It’s such a familiar feeling in recent weeks that it’s almost a comfort as you lay on your bed recounting your latest torment. This time you knew it was a dream; which is really different, and so many firsts. It’s the first time you’ve been able to see, and the first time you’ve been allowed to choose while with Crowley. Heh. “Allowed”. Fascinating that you word it that way; but that extra awareness and freedom enhanced the whole experience instead of taking away the allure, and you like it. A lot. You find yourself wanting to dive into the next one, wondering what will come next time. Damn it, the things he does to you, the way it feels… mmmmmm; you wonder if he’s ever like that in real life? You’ve pleasured him once, and felt his pleasure in return not long ago, but your dreams…. It’s very different in that land of simmering arousal. Real life is certainly better, of course, but once you’re in that place of metal and fire there are no rules, no boundaries, and you aren’t a slave to reality and all of it’s restrictions.

Hmmm, Crowley can certainly see your dreams, he made it abundantly clear that he could, but what if it’s more than him just watching? Not only witnessing you submit to dream-Crowley’s dominance, but actually there himself, as himself… You can’t help but want that to be true; it’s such a tantalizing thought. If your mind is as open to him as you think it is, then it’s certainly possible. Oh if only it were so. At first you were terrified at the thought of him seeing into your mind, but if his response in the massage room taught you anything, it was that he certainly enjoys what he’s been seeing. The thought of Crowley controlling what he does in your dreams, and the way he enjoys you... God, that is so fucking hot! You find yourself smiling, liking that he might just be the one saying and doing all those things, feeling and seeing, and helping to make deliciously terrible things happen instead of just being a witness to your thoughts. You begin to look at your dreams in a whole new way, and you look forward to the next one that comes.

You yawn and stretch the stiffness from your limbs before sitting up and scooping your phone off the end table. It’s right around lunchtime. Wow. That was one hell of a morning, and you still have tonight’s dinner to go through yet. You sigh at the realization that dinner is so far away. Those damned dreams are powerful and despite the fact that Crowley was more than satisfying only a short time ago, you can’t help but crave the feel of him again. Your thoughts are scattered when there’s a knock at the door. You cinch up your robe and blindly fuss with your hair for a moment, completely determined not to look as bad as you did this morning; then you open the door and your eyes go wide.

Crowley is sporting a wonderfully wicked smile as he rolls a cart past you without waiting for an invitation. “Hello love. Thought you might be peckish.” Your head swivels, following his bold entrance into the room, “I wanted to be sure you were fed properly, so I brought lunch myself.” You’re stunned into silence, unable to react as you stare at Crowley. You look back out in the little lobby and catch sight of the same attendant from this morning as he heads down the stairs and around the corner, and a knowing smile pulls at your lips when you close the door. Heh. Yeah right. Sure he “brought lunch”, but you have no intention of calling him on it, because his presence has cranked up that burning lust in your core.

“Come on peach, don’t be shy.” You turn to see that Crowley has pulled out the chair from the little table by the window and he has an expectant look on his face. He appears oddly innocent while he waits for you to cross the room and sit down in the offered chair and a playful smile tugs at the demons lips when he circles round to sit across from you. That air of innocence evaporates as you’re gaze follows him; your eyes are glued to his prominent erection pressing against his zipper, and the blushing grin that spreads across your face is definitely as noticeable as his tented pants. It’s impossible for him to hide but he isn’t even trying; his way of reminding you that your dreams don’t belong to just you, which turns his smile into more of a sultry smirk as he sits down, shifting discreetly so that he isn’t uncomfortable in his current state.  “Let’s see what I brought you, shall we?” He’s talking about lunch, you think, but you can’t help but hear the subtext in that sentence and your core stirs nicely at the thought. Crowley’s eyes stay locked on you as he leans in and plucks the gleaming silver dome from the cart. Underneath is a braised chicken breast on a bed of quinoa with what looks like a dark fruit drizzle on top and crisp glazed green beans to one side. Despite the distraction of Crowley undressing you with his eyes, you find yourself wondering if Renaldo made it; his dinner was delicious and if he made breakfast too, it was equally delightful. In answer to your silent inquiry, Crowley hums in approval at the presentation, his eyes peeling off of you long enough to appraise the lunch he brought. “Renaldo was quite a find. I’m particularly proud of that deal, a real trophy that one.” As if emphasizing his claim of bringing lunch, Crowley sets the tray in front of you, a smirk still decorating his features. “Tray” is such a mundane word considering it’s a solid silver platter with intricate filigree etched into the surface; the plate is fine china and your napkin is folded into a delicate swan. Geez, either this place is way more expensive than you ever imagined or his demons are trying extra hard not to screw anything up. A part of you feels proud of that fact, proud that the creature sitting across from you causes such fear in the things that are, themselves, terrifying. Hmmmm… a monster that monsters fear, that should scare you so badly; instead, ironically, you find yourself needing to shift discreetly just like Crowley, because your sex is aching with appreciative lust as your monster continues to watch from across the table.

He doesn’t have to say a word but you know he wants you to eat, so without argument, you do. Having someone watch you eat is a bit unnerving; having the King of Hell staring intently is even worse, and he is oddly quiet which amps up your nerves to a whole new level. His eyes are intense and they don’t match his relaxed lean as his fingers drum against themselves while he watches you. He is so intimidating, dominant, just like in your dream. The bastard. You try to be dainty about eating, not wanting to look like an unmannered urchin; but inevitably you end up with something on your face, it’s like Murphy’s Law or something. The worst part is that you have no idea until Crowley suddenly leans across the table and swipes his thumb across your chin without a single word. You want to be embarrassed, you should be, but instead your entire body heats up with heavy desire at the King’s touch. You manage to swallow your bite; then you stare as he brings his sauce-covered digit to his mouth. Crowley pauses, his gaze holding you in place as a salacious smile appears, and then you forget to breathe when his tongue licks up the pad of his finger and his thumb disappears behind those delectable lips of his. Good god! You’re trembling; suddenly not giving a damn about the best food you’ve ever eaten, because all you want is the taste and feel of Crowley’s tongue, and the hot wet feel of his mouth against yours. Your lips part in a silent sigh as he pulls his thumb slowly from his mouth; he’s being pornographic about it, and holy shit is it ever working a number on you while you sit there eager and craving.

Crowley’s eyes stay locked with yours and together you stare. Forever and a moment pass by with you both frozen in place, those auburn orbs penetrating your very soul. Lust churns your core; desire becomes hot aching need, building until it’s overwhelming and you can’t breathe. You wonder how much longer you can survive without Crowley’s touch when suddenly the calm is broken. Abruptly the table between you is flipped forcefully to the side by the demon’s unseen power, food and utensils scatter across the floor and you’re not afraid. You aren’t even startled; you’re just relieved that it’s no longer an obstacle; more excited that it’s gone than to be bothered with how unnecessarily violent that was. If anything, you deeply appreciate Crowley’s enthusiasm, and it shows when you both meet right in the middle of that space; hands grabbing, lips pressing heavily, hot breath stolen by aggressive need. It’s not pretty, and you don’t give a good goddamn, because you can’t get enough of his mouth on yours, enough of his tongue sliding between your lips, enough of his hands gripping your ass and grinding your sex against his thigh. You suck on Crowley’s tongue and you’re treated to a burst of fresh cinnamon and spice before he bites your jaw and growls against your neck, pressing all of you tightly too him with strong arms. His need is just as palpable, the strength behind each grip of your flesh and the force behind each breathy kiss a testament.

You’re so tired of his fucking clothes; you want to feel his skin and they’re in the way. Without thinking, and with no hesitation, you grab Crowley’s nicely tucked shirt and yank it free of his belted pants. Before he can stop you, if he even wanted to, your hands are under the fabric, sliding against hot smooth flesh. Oh fuck yes! Your knees buckle and you tremble in his arms when you realize that this is more of Crowley than you’ve ever touched before. With aching need you take in as much of him as you possibly can, your fingers roaming, massaging, gripping, caressing. You want more, more, as Crowley continues to thrust his tongue into your gasping mouth, his hands holding your head with passionate strength. More! Nnnngh more! That’s all you can think as he allows you to feel the muscles of his back before they slide down his sides and across his stomach. Fucking more! You pull free of him so you can grip his shirt with both hands, and then you bite your lip and pull with all your strength. You’re pretty sure Crowley’s power is helping you out a little; but you don’t care, it feels so deliciously violent when buttons go flying. Again his lips capture yours, and you moan with the anticipation of touching him. You suddenly curse into his mouth because his dress shirt opens to reveal a black under shirt. Son of a bitch! You could cry, because all you want is his flesh, and your fingers claw at the fabric in frustration.

Crowley chuckles against your mouth before he pulls away. His right hand slides out of your hair and down your cheek. “Patience love, patience.” You’re shaking, not wanting to wait for anything, but you’re immediately distracted when he runs his thumb delicately across your lips. You press into his touch, your lips parting in a sigh as he brushes back and forth across them, and then he gently slides his digit inside your eager mouth. Crowley closes his eyes, reveling in the feel of you sucking on his finger; and his left hand, shaking slightly, moves up and pulls his tie down and off in one fluid motion.  Jesus, that was sexy as fuck to watch. Tremors run through your body as he drops it to the floor and you continue to run your tongue around the tip of his thumb as you stand still and take in the view. “Ah peach. Lovely peach.” His lips are parted and his eyes are still closed in revelry when he slides his left pointer finger down the length of this chest from neck to navel. The smell of singed fabric fills the air and you realize that a burning trail was left in its wake so that his undershirt falls open, finally revealing what you crave. Holy fuck he can be frightening and so goddamn sexy; you purr as his thumb plays with your tongue and your sex quivers at his show of power.

Crowley’s eyes open, locking with yours. Glazed with lust, he captures you with those chocolate orbs and the time for waiting is over. You snap like your leash has been broken and your arms snake under the tatters of his clothing. Your palms slide along his hot skin and your nails drag ragged red lines as you savor the feel of his naked chest. His hand drops from your mouth so that he can pull you in, pressing you against him with unnatural strength. It’s breathy and sloppy as he licks into your mouth, both of you aching for the feel of each other as your palms slide along his bare torso. Crowley’s hand has cooled back to its usual heat and he slips it in under your robe to find the sexy little bra that he bought for you. Smiling, he hums in approval against your lips while thumbing your nipple to a hardened pebble beneath its dark lace. You gasp when he captures it between two fingers and tugs gently. “Absolutely sinful darling.” Pleasure lances through your body and you moan into his mouth. Mmmm he makes you feel so good and you want to taste him so fucking bad. Crowley knows what you’re going to do before you even make the move to do it, and he’s completely pliant when you grab all the layers of his clothing, jacket, shirt, and undershirt, and pull them off his shoulders, forcing him to let go of you and capturing his arms at his sides. You hold it there, like a makeshift harness as you trail bites down his neck. Jesus he tastes so good. Crowley smirks, tilting his head as you nip and nibble and you can feel the gleam in his eyes as he follows your every move. He’s enjoying the attention. You love that’s he’s watching, and you savor the taste of his hot flesh as you work your way down his chest.

Crowley is not chiseled muscle straining against flesh like Sam and he isn’t the pale freckled firmness of Dean either; he’s Crowley, and he’s fucking delicious. His skin is pale and his torso is heaving as you lick a meandering path, hot and messy along his skin. You swirl your tongue around one of his nipples and you feel it harden instantly in your mouth, causing him to suck in a breath. You chuckle against his chest, satisfied by his reaction, and then you move to the other one. You feel him tense at your touch, his muscles straining against their cloth prison as he groans with pleasure. Holy fuck you can’t get enough of him; and the lust he’s feeding you through the thread is maddening as you gently bite, lick and kiss. “Fuck.” A whispered sigh from the King as his watches you work. Mmmmmm, as much as you’re enjoying this, you ache for Crowley’s touch again, so you pull the layers of black from his arms, leaving his upper body bare and free to move. You only get a moment to enjoy the view of him standing shirtless, his erection pressing heavily against his dress pants, before he steps forward and snaps the belt of your robe with controlled violence, not bothering to untie it.

You’re pliant as the robe falls to the floor and with a feral purr Crowley wraps around you; his arms hot and wonderful, crushing you into him as his sheltered cock rubs against your thigh. You feel a gentle pain as the demon’s teeth clamp down on your neck and he sucks on your flesh, leaving a lovely purple mark before moving downward to do it again. You hardly notice him removing your bra; vaguely registering the feel as it falls to the floor beside you while he gently bites your chin. “You’re maddening peach.” Mmmm that accent has you trembling in the monster’s embrace. “Why are you so maddening?” With one arm braced against your back for leverage, Crowley tips you back so that he can indulge in your heaving breasts. You let out a gasping cry when he bites down, tendrils of pleasurable pain shooting straight to your dripping sex as he feasts on one nipple and then the other. Jesus fuck, everything feels so good, so damn good.

You’re standing there delightfully limp in Crowley’s arms, his bare muscles tensing against you as he devours you with unending hunger, both of you lost in lust; so good, so fucking good. Your cell phone rings, shattering the moment and pulling you back to reality. Crowley stops dead, mid bite, and you feel his body heat up. You pull your head upright from where it was lulled back in revelry, and your eyes meet his. The second ring sounds. You don’t want to answer it, it’s an annoyance, an interruption, but you can feel a single thought roll through the thread from the monster that’s holding you. Answer it. He wants you to answer it, but why? The third rings sounds and you still haven’t moved. Crowley’s eyes are intense as he lets you go, causing you to stagger to find your footing. He stalks across the room and snatches the phone off the bed. A disdainful smirk crosses his face as you watch him thumb the “answer call” button, and then he tosses you the phone without warning.

Shit! Holy shit! Shit! You catch the phone and then, with everything you have, you try and say hello in a normal tone of voice because you have no idea who’s on the other end of the line. “Oh. Hey.” Sam! Fuck! It’s Sam! “Didn’t expect you to pick up. Thought you’d be neck deep in a mud bath or something.” You stare at Crowley and he stares at you, his gaze intense as you chuckle nervously and tell Sam that the mud bath was the first thing you did this morning. You’re surprised at how normal you sound and your eyes never leave Crowley while you talk, your face blushing hot when you realize that you’re naked except your black lacy panties. Crowley seems to appreciate the view and you do too; he looks so fucking seductive standing there with nothing but his dress pants and shoes, and you watch as the demon takes on a new bearing. There is something viscously predatory about the way he moves, and you tense as he closes in on you. “Glad to see you’re relaxing.” You agree with Sam, you think; it’s hard to concentrate when Crowley’s stubble is scraping against your neck and his hand is sliding up and down your naked thigh. You stifle a moan and close your eyes. “Well all I was doing was calling to see if things have gotten better since this morning.” Oh they’ve gotten better all right, insanely, satisfyingly better, but you aren’t going to say that, so you stick to just saying things have improved, hopefully in a level tone. Crowley grips your breasts, kissing in between them as he kneads your flesh. His beard is scratching pleasantly against your skin and you choke back a whimper as your body presses into his touch.

“That’s good to hear. I was beginning to wonder if I needed to come all the way out there and help you relax a little.” Sam is flirting; and it’s lovely, but Crowley’s gripping your ass while pressing his tented crotch against your aching sex and it feels so fucking good. Your appreciation bleeds into your words and you find yourself flirting with Sam without meaning too, some comment about his ability to wear you out enough that relaxing is the only option. Crowley stops, letting go of you as his body tenses and straightens so that he can lock eyes with you. God! He looks…. angry?

Sam is really turned on now, “Mmmm girl, you really know how to drive a man crazy, but I suppose I asked for that.” You wish you hadn’t said that, you think; maybe you’re glad you did. You don’t know; it’s so hard to keep up with everything, and before you know it, more flirtatious words are spilling from your mouth while you stare into Crowley’s chocolate orbs. This time you tell Sam that you’re just ‘returning the favor’ for all the times he leaves you craving. You’re using the demon’s own words on Sam, twisting them for your own purposes and you expect him to be angry, but he’s not. No, not angry at all. He looks proud… and possessive. Yes. Ownership. You just proved that you belong to the King of Hell, and there’s a feeling of immense gratification flowing throw the thread at him witnessing you use his words to torment Sam. You BELONG to Crowley, and he’s proud of you. You suddenly want to purr with delight at that wickedly hot revelation. It’s so fucking wrong, so naughty, and you can’t help it when forbidden pleasure shivers through your body. Crowley is your dirty little secret that neither Sam, nor Dean, will ever know about, and he’s proud of you. He’s your monster; and you want him, you crave him, and you’re equally possessive of him. Your monster stands half naked and docile in front of you until he hears your thoughts; then you watch Crowley come alive with lust; his possessiveness and appreciation turning into action as he licks at one breast and then the other, silently lancing bliss through every nerve of your body as you grip the phone tightly to your ear. Mmmm your monster makes you feel so horribly good.

You hear Sam let out a controlled breath across the line, you almost forgot about him, and you know that your words are toying with him, working him up. “It’s only this weekend right?” Sam’s question hits you like a ton of bricks to the gut. You freeze, the only part of you moving is your hand absently carding through Crowley’s hair as he bites and nibbles your breasts. Only this weekend? Sam wants it to end so he can see you again… because he doesn’t know, he can’t know. It truly is just this one weekend… this one weekend alone with the King of Hell; so little time. You suddenly don’t want to play this game anymore; you’re wasting precious time on the phone and you can’t afford to. Crowley’s mouth is trailing hot pleasure along your flesh; you close your eyes at how good it feels and then he hooks your panties and you feel them slide down to the floor. You’re shaking, and you vaguely register telling Sam, yes, it’s only the weekend. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve been wanting to see you again. I think we’ll make a special trip your way as soon as we can.” His tone is heavy with lust but you really don’t care because Crowley’s fingers suddenly slide deep into your sex while his mouth leaves marks on your collarbone. You swallow your gasp and you manage a half hearted sure, and then you tell Sam you have to go.

“Hey. Are you ok?” Sam’s lust is quickly replaced with concern. You should care about that too, but you don’t, because you’re to busy rocking your hips into each thrust of Crowley’s fingers and you want so badly to let out a shuttering moan as you get closer to the edge. One hand is a clenched fist in the demons hair and the other can barely hold the phone, and by sheer miracle, you manage to regulate your voice enough to tell him your fine, just tired from lack of sleep. “You do sound kinda out of it.” Crowley’s fingers disappear and you want to beg for them to return, but you don’t and your body is quaking in his grip as he guides you to the carpeted floor. You quietly say something about taking a nap… you think. “Ok. I guess you really have learned to relax. That’s good.” Sam chuckles to himself and you bite down on your lip, hard, because Crowley’s cock is nudging at your entrance and all you want to do is scream yes at the top of your lungs. “Well get some rest and I’ll talk to you later.” After mumbling a yeah, you focus enough to make sure your phone is off before dropping it beside you.

There is no space between that action and Crowley sheathing deep into your aching heat. You unleash a passionate cry long and loud as you claw at his skin, relishing in the feel of finally being allowed to voice your pleasure. The beast immediately steals your breath, his kisses insistent, possessive, and lustful. There is no pause. There’s always a pause; that moment needed by your lover to acclimate to the complete connection with you, but not this time. The monster shoved inside you growls, “You’re mine” and you feel Crowley shudder through the overwhelming sensation of completion while he thrusts a hard rhythm. Red eyes. Pools of molten blood stare down at you and you’re not afraid, because he’s your monster. Emotions pour through the thread and flow back through in mountainous waves of force as the King of Hell savors the feel of your pleasure. You know he’s yours, and he knows you’re his and the feel of him consumes you. Your vision blurs as a mind numbing orgasm rolls through your body, causing your sex to clench around Crowley’s hungry cock. “Fucking yes peach. Yes. You are a beauty.” His appreciation barrels across the connection and you float, suspended in bliss as he ravages you with unbridled lust. With each heavy pierce you breathlessly scream his name, you’re body stiff as you wrap around his shifting form; each down-stroke a firework of ecstasy.

Time is irrelevant, unnecessary and nonexistent in the arms of Crowley. His lips against yours, whispering blasphemy and praise, his bare chest shooting threads of pleasure throughout every nerve as his body rubs against your nipples, his monstrous cock splitting you open, making you whole. Your nails scrape red trails down his back until you remember to breath and then it’s forever before you remember to do it again. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Fire. Your body is on fire. Not painful terrible fire, no, this fire is something else. It’s consuming, hungry, licking at every nerve in your body; making you quake, and writhe, and cry out in pleasurable exaltation. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Bliss. Felicity. Euphoric exhilaration. It all devours you until there is nothing, nothing but the beast with burning eyes growling out your name; and then you feel it. Seering hot, yet painless, as Crowley releases deep inside you, his body pressing down heavily as he tenses through the rapture of it. Then he stills, his chest heaving in time with yours until the rhythm of your breathing slows and your vision slowly comes back into focus.

You close your eyes, delighting in the feel of his flesh against yours. “Beautiful peach. So fucking beautiful.” You revel in his words, basking in his appreciation and you expect a kiss; that burst of deliciously comforting cinnamon, but it doesn’t come. What? Wait. Crowley? You instantly feel cold and very light; the demon’s weight and heat no longer crushing you into the floor and you’re confused. Your eyes open to nothingness. Gone. Crowley is gone. You twist your head, scanning the room for him, as you lay naked on the carpet. He’s not standing nearby smirking at you like he usually does; he’s just gone. Emptiness. Your nakedness becomes suddenly shameful and you want nothing more than to cover yourself as you gaze around at the empty room, feeling crushed and desolate. You grab the closest fabric you can get your hands on and you feel numb while you mindless pull it up to your chin as you sit on the floor, your eyes still combing the room for any sign of Crowley. Mmmm the smell of fresh cinnamon; for moment you’re excited, thinking he’s there, but you look down and realize Crowley’s rumbled suit jacket is what you found to cling too and the smell of him lingers on the luxuriant fabric. You can’t help but let out an unexpected sob; he really is gone, just gone, and you feel so alone. Your trembling fingers twist into the fabric and you pull it close, hugging it against your frame. What the fuck is going on? Why? Why did he disappear? Just gone? Poof.

Another sob escapes and you bury your face in his jacket, pulling your knees up, like you’re trying to fold in on yourself. One more time you lift your eyes and look around, that last thread of hope making you think he’s there and you just didn’t notice. Tears stream down your face because he’s not; Crowley left you alone and naked on the floor like a cheap whore whose work is finished. You feel dirty. How could he do that? Anger suddenly intermingles with your misery, your mind replaying how he’s treated you so far; he always just takes what he wants and then disappears, so what did you fucking expect? Fuck him. Fuck Crowley! You’re miserable, lashing out angry words silently as you hug that damn jacket, and then… Oh god… Shame… What did you just do in front of Sam? Jesus Christ! What did you do!? How fucked up was that!? Crowley, that fucking devil! That bastard! That dick! Your tears poor hot and salty from your face, your cheeks burn red, and you feel emptiness where your heart should be as you weep. You cry loud and long, you can’t help it, and you’re glad he isn’t here to see it as you do. That fucking bastard.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Lots of life has been occurring so I'm sorry to keep you waiting for these chapters  
but It's kind of poetic to post a fic about the King of Hell on Halloween. Teehee

 

 **IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING  
** **CHAPTER FOUR**

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Mid afternoon you’re collected for another spa appointment and you blush in shame at the state of the room when Clara comes knocking. You make sure to only open the door wide enough to slip outside; then you pad down the stairs in your slippers and a fresh robe, leaving the wrecked room behind. Your emotions are a bigger mess than what’s upstairs and this time you appreciate the solitude of the empty spa room, because you really want to sort out what you’re thinking. It’s some sort of facial and the mineral-soaked discs they have on your eyes are soothing, relieving the puffiness and heat from your crying; it’s quite nice. The expensive massage chair they have you nestled in is super comfortable and it’s gently caressing your back like a friendly hug while you attempt to loosen up and ease the tense emotions from your muscles. That prick! It’s hard to relax when your heartbreak has solidified into anger, which is easier to manage, but it’s making you hate the fuck out of Crowley right this moment. What an A-one douchebag; what kind of asshat fucking disappears right after something like that? Sigh…. A demon, that’s who. You frown because that self stated proclamation blows the wind right out of your sails and your body starts to go slack, a physical testament to admitting defeat. You grimace, blowing out a frustrated grunt. You wish it was just a lame excuse made up to give him a pass, but really truly, it’s pretty damn legit. You used to be terrified of demons, now you’re pissed off because a demon acts just like a demon. You’ve officially entered crazytown and you should run away screaming before you go any further down this nutso rabbit hole.

Why in the hell did that bastard have to kiss you back in that warehouse… what has it been… two months ago now? If he had kept his lips to himself, you wouldn’t be sitting here pissed off at the world and you’d still have a healthy fear of damned souls; but that stupid spell had to be broken so it was kind of unavoidable. Ugh, demons. There’s a deep scowl decorating your face; good thing no one is around to see it because you probably look terrible with your face covered in mineral goop and a frown that puts Jeff Dunham’s puppet Walter, to shame. Sigh. Damn it. You keep finding arguments for him and you hate that, but it’s not like either of you really has a choice in this. It’s that damn Cupid’s grace, so you shouldn’t be pissed at Crowley for being… well… Crowley. You haven’t been around him very much, but he’s pretty easy to peg in the personality department. He’s pompous, selfish, self-righteous, and extremely confident in his own abilities, and also totally assured that he will always get what he wants. He’s the kind of guy that makes you feel like you’ve won first prize if you catch his attention, but in the end you’re left used and wanting… because he’s a demon. Not to mention demons don’t cuddle; no matter how much of yourself you give or he takes from you, he isn’t a cuddly fluffy teddy bear… because he’s a demon. Yeah yeah, demon schmeeman, that was still a major douche move on his part; but what’s done is done, now you have to decide what to do next. Do you stick around and see what happens… or do you tell him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. That is the question, isn’t it, and it’s a tough one to answer because…. Reasons.

You sigh heavily again, and shift in your chair. He wasn’t the only one being an asshole in all this; what happened to poor innocent Sam was a joint effort. You stifle a snort of laughter. Ok… innocent is probably not a good word to describe a Winchester, but that’s not the point. In this particular case he really was innocent, oblivious, a complete dupe. You should feel absolutely terrible; what you did while Sam was on the phone with you was so many levels of wrong, and if he ever found out… well that would not be a good thing. You’re pretty sure Sam would blame Crowley for everything and it would probably end very very badly for the King of Hell. Part of you likes the thought of the boys getting hold of him, kicking his ass for the pain he’s put you through; however, the other part aches at the prospect of never seeing him again, so you remain torn. But what if they do find out? Sam and Dean are definitely good at killing, and even if Crowley was telling the truth about the boys being his besties, you can’t really see them being ok with sharing their toys. Ha. You’re even starting to think like that devil bastard. You aren’t Sam and Dean’s toy, you’re their… um…. Hmmm… well whatever the fuck you are to the Winchesters, it’s not a toy.

Speaking of toys, that’s exactly what you did with Sam; you played him pretty hard. You should’ve hung up, or stopped Crowley, or told Sam what was happening, or… something. Ugh. Shoulda woulda coulda; again, what’s done is done so stop dwelling on it, right? Yeah right, good luck with that. The worst part about this whole thing is that you’re more upset with yourself than at Crowley. It’s your fault for expecting more from Crowley and your fault for being surprised when he disappeared, but you still hate him for it. It’s also your fault for toying with Sam while Crowley took you hard and hot… and it’s also your fault that you kinda don’t really feel guilty about it, at all. Well that’s not true, you do feel guilty, but not in the way you’re supposed to. You feel guilty because you don’t feel guilty, how fucked up is that? It’s because underneath all of this, there is a thread of naughty appreciation. Every moment you spend with Crowley is a terrible thing, you’re perfectly aware of that; but no matter how wrong you keep telling yourself this whole things is, no matter how much you know you should feel guilty and bad, you don’t.

You should leave and get far away from him, but you can’t. You just can’t. You’ve enjoyed everything Crowley has done to you, the way he’s taken control of you, even the way he leaves you craving and begging for more. What’s worse is the hot shiver of pleasure you get at the thought of how you got away with Crowley secretly claiming you when Sam was right there on the phone; it was all so…. so amazingly hot as fuck! The icing on the cake is Crowley’s self-assured carefree nonchalance; it’s seriously sexy, albeit incredibly frustrating. What is it about bad boys? They always seem to get a girl all hot and bothered. Damn it Crowley. You shift in the chair again, this time because you’re body is heating up in ways it shouldn’t. Damn, damn, damn! What in the hell has that devil done to you? Have you always been this screwed up? No. Yes. Maybe. You sigh heavily again, and then you spend the remainder of your time trying to bottle up your salacious thoughts and you try to think of a way to get away from all of this before it’s to late; before you’re to far gone.

 

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Eventually the discs are removed and the attendant peels the unattractive facial mask off your face; physically you feel refreshed, mentally… meh. You have no idea what to do and your desire has ebbed, but it’s still there, always a tease. Clara appears and you figure she’s going to take you to the next treatment; instead, she lets you know there are refreshments on the terrace, and you have a bit of time to enjoy the grounds before the next appointment. Oh. Refreshments on the terrace, how classy. You chuckle at yourself, and after saying thank you to both the attendant and Clara; you meander towards the terrace doors. Somewhere in the back of your mind there is a tingle that says this is some sort of setup; and you instinctively brace yourself just in case. Crowley seems to like setups and he is all about showmanship, which can be a nice quality in a person, in a demon, debatable. If you can manage to stay away from him for a while, then you can sort out a way to leave. Of course you could always call on the boys, but you don’t want Crowley dead, you just need to get away before… before… what exactly? You aren’t sure what, but you feel like it’s what you’re supposed to do. In every story, everywhere, it’s written that you’re supposed to fight evil, not submit to it. Which is why you should leave, right? Yes. No. Maybe. Ugh. This is so damn complicated.

As you get closer, you can see a gorgeous little garden just beyond the two huge glass doors that swing open on silent hinges; you relax when you find it empty, no sign of Crowley anywhere. Just like out front, there is a little fountain nestled in amongst beautiful vegetation and it’s a soothing sound. An ancient looking stone patio spreads out in a semi-circle from the doors and it branches out into small paths that meander around the entire structure in a loop. A third path wanders amongst the plants ahead of you where it finally ends at a little bench perched on an outlook. A willow tree brushes lightly against its back and rolling mountains full of wild beauty stretch to the horizon beyond it, picture perfect. Your focus returns to the nearby surroundings and an intricate set of wrought iron chairs with a matching table is set off to one side of the patio. You see a silver tray with a dome lid, and it looks exactly like what your lunch was served on. You blush hot at the memories that suddenly roll over you. His hands, the taste of his skin, the feel of Crowley inside you hot and throbbing; you close your eyes for a moment, breathing deep and desperately trying to remember that you’re mad at that bastard and that you’re going to run away.

Bad Crowley. Mean Crowley. One more deep sigh later, you’ve managed to box up those tantalizing memories and you decide that some nibbles will help take your mind off things. Wandering around outside in your bathrobe feels a little odd but you feel so alone in this place that you figure it doesn’t really matter, because who’s around to see you anyways. You shuffle over to the little table and gingerly lift the lid up and off expecting to see cheese and crackers or a bag of chips or something, but your breath catches and your stomach does a summersault at what’s underneath. Indeed there is food; cheese on crackers, a lovely cup of mixed fruit, little delicate cakes on miniature plates, but what has your attention is the centerpiece. A little stuffed dragon is perched on a raised pedestal right in the middle of the platter. He’s black as soot and his eyes are shining red, like drops of blood in the afternoon sun. A lacey red ribbon is draped around his neck and it’s attached to an envelope with your name on it.

For a moment you’re frozen; so many thoughts flooding your mind that you aren’t sure what to do. Finally, you push through the shock and gingerly take the envelope, the ribbon easily releasing from its keeper. The handwriting is beautiful and it reminds you of the note that was attached to the dress you were given. Damn it Crowley! You’re supposed to be mad, you’re supposed to be leaving; and you consider walking away because you shouldn’t open it, but your legs betray you and remain rooted in place. You know what kind of present this is supposed to be and curiosity is eating at you to open the envelope. You take a deep breath and then gently pop the old style wax seal that adorns it. The card is made of the same heavy, yellowing parchment as the envelope. It’s plain, no adornments or filigree, no doodles or crests, just jet black ink in scrawling letters that read, ~This is Mr. Cuddles, he belongs to you.~ No signature, no fluff, just that one short sentence. It says nothing special but yet it speaks volumes as you run a trembling finger across the long delicate lines of Crowley’s handwriting.

You lay the envelope down and with both hands you tenderly lift Mr. Cuddles off the pedestal. Oh god, he’s adorable and he’s stuffed with the perfect amount of fluffy filling to make his name a legitimate statement. His eyes really are blood red and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear they were made from real rubies. He has tiny little wings that dial up the cute factor and he feels good, and strangely familiar, against the palms of your hands. You pull Mr. Cuddles into your arms and the scent of fresh cinnamon and spices fills the air. Your pulse quickens as you stand there on the smooth stones of the patio while the breeze pulls lightly at your hair, oh Crowley. Any lingering anger you had evaporates, because this simple gift says so many things at once; the most prominent statement being that demons don’t cuddle, but this little dragon does. It’s your monsters way of apologizing; the only way he can say sorry without saying it, and like an idiot you’re accepting it wholeheartedly.

Still snuggling Crowley’s gift tight to your chest, you wander down the narrow path and sit on the bench under the willow. You cuddle that little black dragon like he’s going to fly away while you take in the view of the mountains. Damn it. Why did Crowley have to go and do this?  Hating him was such a good thing to do, the right thing, proper and wholesome; now, well now you’re back to feeling seriously fucked up, naughty, and maybe a little masochistic. You shouldn’t; those feelings are why you got hurt, you should stay mad. You should stay away from Crowley, far away; run away screaming before… before it’s too late. You keep saying that, but maybe it’s already too late. Sighing seems to be the order of the day because you blow out another heavy breath as you pull the stuffed dragon away and lay it on your lap. You stare at it long and hard, your fingers idly running along it’s wings and arms. Familiar, why does it seem so familiar? It reminds you of your monster; not just the delicious smell, and the bright red eyes, there is something else and you can’t quite figure it out. You really should run far, far away.

 

“Hello darling.” You swallow a yelp, jumping at those unexpected words. Oh no, it’s him. Warm familiar hands scoop at your hair, causing you to relax back into your original state, and you instinctively bare your neck when Crowley’s warm breath, tickles just behind your ear. You press into his kiss, hating yourself as you do. You should run away, stay mad at him, but you can’t; why can’t you just be mad at him? “That’s a very good question love.” It’s unnerving whenever he references thoughts that were never spoken aloud, and you grip Mr. Cuddles tight as Crowley nudges and nibbles your neck. His left arm glides down over your shoulder, his hand slipping under your robe so that he can knead your bra-covered breast. Hot shivers race across your skin, heating your body to the core with feelings that you’re trying desperately to fight. Don’t. You bite your lip so that you don’t moan; but oh god, how you want to moan. His right hand tucks under your chin and he gently forces your head into a tilt, his thumb running firmly along your jaw line while his hot lips suck little purple marks into your skin. Please. Desire flares up, running from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair and your body is aching for Crowley’s attention. You fight it, hard. Please don’t. You try to stomp it down into a little place in the back of your mind where it can’t control you, but you’re failing, because the feel of his heat against you is intoxicating.

Crowley is fighting to hold back too, and it’s odd. His lust isn’t rolling over you like usual, it’s not drowning out the world and clogging your mind with the delicious feel of his need for you; instead it’s dammed up, walled off on the other side of the thread. You have your own reasons for fighting this, but why is he holding back? Crowley’s stubble scrapes against your skin, stirring your core again. Stop. Is it because he hopes it will torment you? Please stop. If so, he’s right, the anticipation of that wall crumbling down so that you drown in the feel of him is both torturous and perplexing. Please. Haven’t you been tormented enough? Crowley’s voice comes out like sharp gravel, a deep contrast to the soft warmth of his lips against your neck, “Angels are a curse to mankind.” You choke back a whimper when he pauses to make another purple mark, and his voice holds less venom when continues, “and demon-kind.” That accent is so magnificent. No. Stop, he needs to stop, but the feel of Crowley’s words purred against your skin is setting every nerve on fire and your sex is aching from his unexpected attention. You’re trying so hard not to want it, to not want him; it’s one hell of a battle to fight and you’re loosing as you silently beg for mercy. Tense, yet pliant, you remain still in his grip; tendrils of pleasure curling throughout every nerve wherever his lips go. It takes everything you have to keep your lips and hands to yourself and just when you think the fight is lost and you’re going to break, his touch is gone, leaving you cold and breathless.

It takes a moment before you realize he’s now sitting next to you on the bench; and when that sinks in, you cinch your robe shut and pull the dragon in tight to your chest as you stare at him. You have no idea how to feel right now and Crowley just leaves that sentence, and the situation, hanging while he looks out across the landscape in sudden silence. You want to nibble his stubble and massage his tented crotch, but you should run away. You want to feel his hot naked skin pressing against yours; but no, no you shouldn’t. You’re so frickin’ confused right now and you wonder what he’s thinking. Did he hear you begging him to stop? Does he sense your confusion and how torn you are right now? What you really want to know is why he left you like he did, naked, alone, and used. Was he forced to go, or was it something else… something personal? Then you want to know the motivation behind his apology gift, followed by why he just appeared out of nowhere, stirred you up and then sat down like that was nothing but a simple hello. So many questions.

You look down at Mr. Cuddles and you can’t help but hope that the little black dragon will start talking and answer all those questions. He doesn’t, because he can’t; he merely rests in your palms, soft and adorable. Or can he? Looking closer, you study him hard; what is it about him that reminds you so much of Crowley, and why did he give you this gift? You should give him back and leave, because this is just a lame attempt to make up for that dick move back in your bedroom. You need to be mad at him, but… you already accepted this as an apology, wholeheartedly. Be mad, come on, stay pissed off; because this little stuffed thing is just a token gesture to keep your anger at bay, a bit of fluff to placate the emotional human so the demon can play some more. You wish you could be mad, but the will and drive to hate him just isn’t there. Damn it, why does it remind you of Crowley so much? Your eyes move away from the dragon and up to the King as he gazes stoically out at the mountain scenery. Is he listening in on your inner monologue? Probably. Your gaze moves back down to the dragon, up to Crowley again, and then down once more. You let out a quiet gasp and you look one more time, just to make sure. Oh god.

Your grip turns to a reverent cradle as your fingers gently caress the black fabric. You won’t leave; you can’t, because it’s to late. You understand now; both of you are too far gone, and the proof is resting in the palms of your hands. You didn’t realize how familiar you’d become with the fabric of Crowley’s suit jacket but now it’s yours to keep; a strange narcissistic gift from the heart. The soft skin of the dragon is an exact match, and as you run your fingers across the fine threads, you become absolutely certain of it. Your fingertips come around and as they slide across the dragon’s belly your pulse quickens until it’s thundering in your ears. You see it now. From just under the dragon’s chin, down its neck, belly, and to the tip of the tail is a different material. It’s a smooth satin of dark silver adorned with black print accents; it’s Crowley’s tie. Jesus, it’s his goddamned tie! You sit there mute, your thumb gently stroking the satin underbelly of Mr. Cuddles. You will never run from Crowley because this isn’t a trifle; not a random stuffed bit of fluff to appease you, this is… there are no words for what this is. Holy shit, how are you supposed to feel about this?

“I pride myself on being an honest man,” Crowley’s voice is sudden and wistful; his attention still focused on the scenery as your head slowly twists so that your eyes come to rest on the demon King of Hell. “Well… honest demon,” He gives you a little half smile before returning his eyes to the mountaintops, “But that doesn’t mean I always divulge the truth to others. So when I tell you that I’m mostly to blame for this whole predicament, I hope you appreciate that’s its rare for me to admit that.” How is this his fault? You don’t have to say it out loud, because your damned curiosity is screaming that question at full volume inside your head. Crowley chuckles to himself before continuing, “They always say curiosity killed the cat.” He looks at you, his tone turning preachy for a moment, “Words to live by. Trust me.” You can’t do anything but stare; and yes, you’re really frickin’ curious right now and you don’t need a lecture about it, least of all from him. Crowley softens as his eyes capture yours, and you swear he’s fighting the urge to pull a hand from his pocket so that he can skim it across your cheek. You wish he would. “Not your curiosity love, mine.”

Oh, he wasn’t talking about you. So wait, what does that mean? You sit in silence; knowing that he heard your thoughts and saying it aloud would only be redundant and pushy. “I truly meant what I said the first night we had dinner together peach. I really wasn’t expecting what happened in that warehouse. I do believe we surprised each other just a bit when I kissed you.” A wistful smile pulls at his lips, your insides warm at the memory of that unexpected moment, and then Crowley changes the subject. “When it comes to stopping diabolical plots and the sort, planning out a variety of possibilities is necessary. Strategy and contingence plans are something I’m particularly good at, lucky me.” He shrugs, trying to play it off as casual but you can tell he likes talking, especially about himself; and honestly, you don’t mind listening. Crowley tilts his head; those auburn orbs still intently locked with yours, and his tone goes suggestive, “I know the Winchesters. I’ve been around the block with them on more than one occasion and I’m fully aware of what they’re capable of.” You don’t have the capacity to react; all you can do is listen as you sit there on a bench, under a willow, with a demon. Crowley notices your silence and he smirks, making you vaguely wonder what expression you’re wearing, “So, they should’ve been a decent backup plan.” He breaks away so he can gaze back out at the view, shifting the focus, and like a game of ‘made you look’, you can’t help but do the same, and the landscape is breathtaking in the afternoon sun.

“As far as nefarious schemes go, this one was pretty straight forward. For you it all started when the boys found themselves a lovely little trollop laying in an alley, and they took her home to play with.” Your head snaps back in Crowley’s direction at that. How does he know about that? He glances at you, “I have eyes everywhere love.” Then he continues in a distracted voice, his gaze wandering away again, “Admittedly it was a tiny bit out of character for the Winchester’s to whisk you away to their secret decoder ring clubhouse; even Dean knows better than to take his bar tarts home to play. He certainly wouldn’t keep them around either, much less share them with Moose; but come to find out, you were more than just the run of the mill flavor of the week. I should’ve caught on then; but I just assumed they were taking advantage of the situation, using the threat on your life as an excuse.” He pauses, lost in thought. “I would have.” That sentence hangs for a moment and then he looks at you, chuckling lightly, “Oh peach; if you only knew how much danger you were really in at the time.” You don’t smile back. From the outside you’re like a statue, emotionless and calm; on the inside, you’re a tumultuous mess of confused disarray. He’s twisting you in so many directions at once; questions still run rampant, and now they’re mixed with memories of your time with the Winchesters, both good and bad. Everything is swirling into a stewed blend of arousal, fear, and anticipation, and it’s locking you in place.

“I saw you at Biggerson’s with Dean.” How? Your eyes go wide at that statement, the only outward indication that Crowley is blowing your mind right now. “I remember smirking at the afterglow you were sporting as you strolled out the front door; adorable.” You aren’t sure how to react to that, and Crowley doesn’t seem to mind your silence as he moves on by sighing dramatically, “I thought you were just another notch in Dean’s belt,” Pausing, his tone loses it’s playfulness, “But… well… I saw what happened after that.” He looks away again, his sight turning inward while he recounts his memories. “It got my wheels turning; the way Dean fawned over you. Such concern, it was almost embarrassing.” Crowley’s sarcasm pulls you away from the dark memories that spring to mind and was that… jealousy in his voice? You clearly remember Dean, and Crowley is being overly dramatic because no “fawning” occurred. However, Dean was pretty amazing, and you’re mind calms at the thought of him; Dean was your white knight as you’ve so fondly labeled him in your mind, there to save you and make sure you were ok when you really needed him.

Crowley snorts, ducking his head down so he can stifle either a laugh or a wretch and he’s gracious enough to refrain from making snide comments about that little title you’ve given Dean. “The boys are always fond of their damsels, but only to a degree. Naturally I was suspicious, so I had them watched.” The King pauses and smiles, “I always keep tabs on those two, but in this case, I told them to keep an extra close eye on those Neanderthals.” Crowley shifts on the bench, leaning a little closer before continuing, “My intention isn’t to make you feel bad love, but… you almost got them killed. Their heads were so far out of the game when they raided that nest of demons.” Crowley’s fake concern is almost comical but you aren’t laughing. “Castiel is what saved their ass on that little field trip.” How could you NOT feel bad about that kind of statement? Jesus Crowley! Why is he telling you all this? Crowley ignores your silent question as he plugs along through his monologue, seemingly without a care. “The information they extracted was very useful though; and distracted or not, the boys wiped out that nest of crazies, which was a definite advantage. Kept me from having to do that dirty little deed myself.” You cringe at the sudden image of them stabbing and killing. You remember Dean’s heartless eyes in the alley; you hear Sam’s gruff voice yelling for Dean to hurry up and kill her while he held a struggling woman with black eyes in the warehouse. You don’t really like to remember those moments, regardless of the fact that those were evil demons they were killing. “Oh yes pet, that’s about how it looked. Very dirty and very violent,” Crowley’s being crass and you don’t appreciate it. “Prefer not to think of them like that I see; well peach, it’s who they are and what they do most days, so don’t get squeamish now.” Your eyes narrow, and Crowley just smirks. “Regardless of your discomfort darling, their violent tendencies allowed me to figure out exactly what those little Luci loving pricks were planning. After that it was simple to sort it all out; like following an easy bake recipe, just less domestic.”

How could it be easy? You and Sam, mainly Sam, worked long and hard to piece that insane puzzle together, and you never did come close to finding a way to stop it; well, other than keeping them from completing the individual pieces that is. Crowley huffs out a chuckle, finally taking his hands out of his pockets to smooth the lapel of his long black jacket. “I’m the King of Hell darling, information is my currency.” You can’t help but be impressed and it’s written all over your face, damn it. He’s so self-righteous, but you kinda like it. Damn it again. He’s so pompous; how can you like that? Sigh… because reasons. Crowley keeps going, loving the sound of his own voice, and you hate to admit that you like it too. “Trust me. I tried the easy way first; but as you can guess, that did not go as planned, so I bet on the Winchester horse. They were a bit less reliable this time.” Crowley shakes his head in disappointment. “They botched the virgin kills, and apparently didn’t even know about the murder of an entire lineage in Nebraska.” Crowley sighs dramatically, again, “I’m not at all like Moose and Squirrel; I don’t like things coming down to the wire, but in this case I had no other choice, and those louts let me down.” Crowley growls out the next sentence, his annoyance apparent, “They had one job. One. Which was to keep you away from the ceremony and the key… and what did they do? They buggered it up, that’s what they did.” He’s making it sound like Sam and Dean were under his management the whole time, that this was somehow his plan. Crowley is spinning the entire story so it sounds like he was in charge of the whole situation and Sam and Dean were just his incompetent minions. Wow, just wow. What a load of shit! Crowley looks at you in surprise, “Such language.” You can hear the playful tone in his voice and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was happy that you called him on that. “Well peach, you must admit one thing,” Crowley straightens up, a gleam in his eye despite his mocking tone, “I did look pretty spectacular when I came in to save the day. Waiting till the very last moment is hard to achieve but my timing was impeccable.”

You call bullshit again, because you’re certain he didn’t wait around for the perfect moment to come swooping in. You smile at Crowley anyways, because you do remember; and honestly, he was pretty notable. Dark and mysterious, commanding and confidant, Crowley certainly made an impression. He was very memorable indeed; and remembering him is certainly saying something, because at the time you barely registered anything past the angel attached to your lips. That was some seriously heavy mojo you were under, and Castiel was truly a delightful distraction, a wonderful, beautiful, mind-blowing distraction. Suddenly you blush, and immediately you bottle up any and all thoughts of the angel, because… well… in the presence of a demon, a demon that you really want to lick, kiss, and otherwise fuck right now, well, it’s not the best place to bring up thoughts of angels. Besides, your brain can only handle one crazy otherworldly man at a time.

It’s almost shameful how easily Sam, Dean, and the beautiful Castiel are pushed from your thoughts. It’s because Crowley’s brown eyes lock with yours and you’re pulled back into his story, back into him. “It was easy enough to fix that kind of spell, I wasn’t worried about that part at all” Ok, now he’s just being pompous, and you don’t really mind. “But, I was hoping like hell I wouldn’t have to be the one to do it.” He frowns for a moment at the memory of Castiel, and you recall Crowley’s little hissy fit after kissing the angel that you so desperately wanted back in your arms. “The two of you forced my hand on that one… fucking angels.” The last part comes out as a growl as he tilts his neck, like he’s uncomfortable at the mere thought of it. You chuckle, because you remember that part pretty well; and now that you aren’t in dire peril, it’s kinda funny. Crowley gives you a flat look, and your chuckle turns into a full-bellied laugh. For the first time ever, the King of Hell has made you laugh, and perhaps it nerves, maybe it’s the emotional roller coaster you’ve been forced to ride, maybe you’re just tired of everything just being so frickin’ heavy; whatever the reason, you laugh, long and loud.

Crowley leans back a little, raising an imperious eyebrow while watching you; but after a few moments he breaks into a truly genuine smile, one that brightens his eyes and lights up his features. Your laughter dies away, replaced by silent awe because Crowley looks astoundingly handsome when he smiles. Breathtaking. He’s smirked, sneered, and leered a hundred times before now, but this time it’s different. Completely different, and you admire this rare sight you’ve been allowed to witness. Crowley suddenly seems uncomfortable and he shifts in his seat, his gaze dipping to the ground while his right hand runs down his face, seeming to wipe the mirth from his features. It was beautiful while it lasted and your eyes stay locked on him in hopes of another glimpse, but his tone turns serious again, deep with that smooth accent rolling his syllables, “I didn’t have to kiss you.” A look of surprise replaces your grin; that curveball doing it’s job to distract you.

What? He glances over at you, leaning in a little bit, “I didn’t have to kiss you in order to break the spell.” Holy…. Ok. He’s saying what you thought he was saying and you’re dumbstruck. “The whole thing should’ve been quick and simple.” You hold your breath when his deep brown eyes meet yours, because you realize this has all been a build up; Jesus he’s melodramatic; and you suddenly have no idea where this is going. “I’d already seen the Winchester’s posh totty from a distance; and while you were mildly interesting, I thought I knew what to expect.” Mildly interesting? Oh. You shrink back a little bit, something inside you silently breaking at that casual brush off, and your eyes drop to the empty space on the bench in front of you. Crowley reaches over, using a gentle finger under your chin to tip your head back up. He stays in place until you meet his gaze, then his tone turns soft as he continues. “I knew the boys and their angel would be there, and I assumed they would be the center of attention.” Crowley is still mostly walled off on the other end of the connection, but something’s bleeding through. You can feel it; warm comforting threads of affection and… something, something deeper. What is it? “I knew how many demons were in that warehouse, I knew exactly what needed to be done; I even knew the name of the demon that started all this crap.” His tone is still gentle, like he’s soothing a frightened child as his thumb grazes back and forth across your chin. “I knew exactly what to expect.” Your jaw clenches because there is a glint of something deep, hungry, and… what else? You can’t place it and you clutch that silly little stuffed dragon because you’re suddenly wound tight, the anticipation of what he’ll say next, causing a tense silence. “I was wrong, because I didn’t expect you.” Your heart skips a beat.

“You were a thing of beauty.” Oh Crowley. There is so much reverence in that sentence and that strange warm feeling becomes stronger as the wall he’s built begins to shudder and crack. Crowley’s hand moves from your chin and he gently brushes your cheek. A note of regret rolls across the thread as he caresses the spot where he smacked you so long ago; you’d forgotten about that. Memories come flooding back to you in vivid clarity and you remember that moment, the first moment he ever touched you, and the permanent connection that was made with that violent action. You feel seriously screwed up that it makes you happy, but Crowley has you so twisted and upside down that you don’t care whether this is right or wrong anymore; you only care about him. Crowley’s features soften at that silent statement, “Surprising exquisite beauty.” Your pulse thunders in your ears as you lean into his soft touch. “I _truly_ was not expecting _you_.” Tears well up and you close your eyes, refusing to let them spill as Crowley gently runs his thumb across your cheekbone. Can demons have this kind of emotion? Should you have these feelings for a demon? How is that he’s done such terrible things and you don’t care? You don’t give a damn about anything, except the right here, and the right now, and it’s horribly wonderful. Crowley’s your monster. He’s your wickedly terrible beast, yours and yours alone, and you want him so badly; truly, madly, deeply want him so fucking much.

A quiet sigh escapes your lips when the King’s power wraps around you. Vaguely, you register the sensation of it sliding you across the bench until your thigh is flush against his; then you melt when Crowley’s mouth presses tenderly against yours. So good, it feels so good, so right, and so perfect. Like two magnets finally snapping together, you know this feeling; you’ve felt it before with Sam and Dean, and it’s magnificent. His fingers tenderly card through your hair, causing shivers as his lips massage yours. He’s being so… delicate. It’s strange and new and you moan as his tongue dips between your lips, lightly playing as you bask in this new sensation. It’s a moment suspended in time, unending. You feel the wall that Crowley built trembling and you brace yourself for the outpouring of lust and need that’s about to overwhelm everything, but it doesn’t come; he’s holding on to it with everything he’s got. Why? Why isn’t he claiming you hot and hard like he has been? You know he wants you, you know he needs you, you know he… he… you can’t say it; but where’s the Crowley you’ve come to know? Suddenly you ache for it, wanting so badly for him to use you up hard and you don’t care if he throws you away afterward because he’ll come back, you know he will. You want to be overpowered, claimed, owned; but Crowley remains docile, gentle, and tame. It’s maddening.

You can’t take it. Your entire being aches for your monster, so you press into his kiss with hunger and you drown him in your essence, pushing all of your feelings of need, desire, lust, craving, want, everything, through the connection and into him. Crowley’s entire body stiffens with heat and pleasure but he’s still not letting go; like a stubborn dog that won’t release a toy, he’s fighting hard and you suddenly want to break him. That urge flares up hot and immediate and the little stuffed dragon gets tossed aside, laying sideways on the bench seat as you twist, swinging your leg over Crowley so that you’re straddling him with your ass firmly planted on his knees. Still rigid, his hands grip your shoulders while your tongue invades his mouth with fervor, and your arms encase his head so you can pull him in deeper while you drown him in salacious affection. He’s fully accepting, and you feel his enjoyment from each lick and moan and, oh god, you want him so fucking bad. Your hands come alive, sliding off his shoulders, under his coat, mindlessly unfastening his suit jacket. So many fucking layers; damn it Crowley. Your tongue never stops tasting him while your fingers work to undo each and every one of those damn buttons on his dress shirt, and he moans as his hands move down so that they’re sliding along your naked thighs. Fucking yes. You moan that into his gasping mouth as you shift so you can grind your aching sex against his trembling leg. The last button is undone and you grab his dress shirt, yanking hard, so that it pulls free of his belted pants; no undershirt, sweet Jesus yes, there is one less layer and you are so damn happy.

You finally pull free of Crowley’s delicious lips and you watch his eyes roll upward with a moan when you bite his chin. “Peach,” Your pet name comes out as a reverent sigh, heating your body to the core as you nibble his jaw. Crowley’s hand is shaking when it slides up into your hair as you work slowly down to the tender part of his neck, his breath hitching with each scrape of your teeth or press of your lips. He’s unnaturally warm and a strange heat fills your mouth when you suck a purple mark into the King’s flesh. He tastes so damn good and it’s comforting, like hot coffee on a cold day and you want to feel it again. You move down and repeat, hearing your moan match his while you worship the taste of his skin. “Beautifully surprising; so fucking… mmmm.” Crowley whispers to the sky, his hand a trembling fist in your hair while you work your way down his chest. You suck, bite, lick, nibble, and nuzzle, feeling your monster shiver with each show of attention, and you drown him in another wave of desire. You’re no longer on his lap, so you sink to your knees between his spread legs; he tilts his head, those eyes locking on you as he slides down, giving you better access. Crowley’s pants are easy to unbuckle and you’re trembling with pleasure as he quietly watches every move you make with a wicked gleam in his eye.

You’ve seen it, felt it between your legs, tasted it, and stroked it, but you still gasp when his cock is finally freed from his pants. It will always be impressive, and right now it looks painfully hard. You know he’s aching for you; you can feel it through the connection despite the wall he’s so desperately trying to hold together. Equally, you ache for him, like an itch you can’t scratch. You’re finally connected with him, it’s been missing from all of your encounters with him before, until now; and it’s suddenly beautiful. A new level of connection overwhelms your senses as your lips slide down his cock; Crowley feels it too, along with your hot mouth taking him in, and the sensation of him coming apart so quickly is divine. “Jesus fucking Christ!” You feel Crowley flinch at his own curse, mixed in with his shuddering moan while your mouth glides up and down his throbbing shaft. You thought things were intense before; now, it’s…. Jesus it’s extraordinary; and you want more.

Crowley’s eyes are glazed and unfocused when you pull your lips from him with a teasing pop, but he still manages to follow your movements as you climb back onto his lap. You savor your control over him as you thrust your tongue between his parted lips and revel in the feel of him pliant and submissive beneath you. Mmmmmm, all of him tastes so goddamn good and you want nothing more than to feel him inside you. Mmmm Crowley, you’re going to take him in deep and it’s going to feel so fucking good; and that’s exactly what you whisper against his lips before shoving your tongue back into his accepting mouth. You feel him tense, the wall he’s built crumbling till it’s almost broken; oh god, the anticipation. You want to feel it; you want to feel him. Please Crowley, just break; let it happen and ride the wave that follows. His fingers tighten where he’s gripped your sides and he’s cracking, delicious warmth and heavy desire beginning to pour out across the thread. Good, it feels so fucking good; you press your body against his and you slide your slick lips across his stubbled cheek so you can nibble his ear and suckle the soft flesh of his neck.

Suddenly there’s a hot blast of air against your face, strong enough to fluff both your hair and Crowley’s; you freeze in place, your blood turning to ice in an instant. “What the…” Crowley snaps out of his stupor and into annoyed anger in a heartbeat, and you don’t move because you’re gripped with an unexplainable fear that has every nerve in your body on edge. “Juliet!” Crowley’s head twists so that he’s looking at something right next to you, “Was that necessary?” Who’s Juliet? In answer, a deep guttural growl grinds out of an angry throat right by your head. You remain perfectly still, terrified by Juliet; but Crowley’s hands push on your sides, forcing you to move. Reluctantly you comply by straightening your spine with as little motion as you can possibly manage. Your whole body remains stationary but your eyes dart from left to right, trying desperately to see who or what Juliet is as you sit trembling on Crowley’s lap. Another reproving growl rumbles and you’re certain it was right next to where your head was moments before, but there’s nothing there. Crowley twists his head back towards that spot, and the look on his face resembles an aggravated parent whose about to scold a child. “You daft beast, does she look dangerous to you?” Still terrified and now totally confused, you watch, as Crowley turns so that he can look you up and down, and then back to that space of growling empty air. “Let me rephrase that, does it look like she’s hurting me? Do I look like I’m in pain to you?” His tone is condescending and his annoyance is palpable. He stares at what looks like nothing for a moment more and then the growling stops, followed by an almost pathetic whimper and the rustling of grass. Crowley’s tension disappears but he’s still very much annoyed; you’re still terrified, every hair standing on end as you try and make sense of what’s going on.

“Bloody hell, you witless pooch; you really know how to ruin a moment.” Crowley turns his attention to you and he chuckles lightly, probably at whatever expression is currently frozen on your face. He taps your legs and shifts, “Come on peach, time to get up.” Somehow you move. You aren’t sure how and it doesn’t matter, but you find yourself standing, and you watch while Crowley zips up his pants, buttons his shirt, and straightens his tie; all while he’s gazing back at you with a smirk still decorating his features. When he’s done, Crowley steps forward and pulls your robe together, tucking it neatly, and tying the belt snug and secure. “There, now that we’re back in order; would you like to meet Juliet?” Your eyes go wider than they already were and all you can manage is a jerking shake of your head; because no, you do not want to meet her, you just know that you don’t. “Suit yourself, but if you’re polite to her, then she’s less likely to kill you.” What the fuck Crowley! What… the… fuck! What is going on? Crowley flashes you a crooked smile and he pats your cheek, “Don’t move, ok.” You weren’t planning on it anyways.

You don’t even turn your head, your eyes the only part of you moving as you watch Crowley circle around behind the bench. You hear another pathetic whine and then a snorting grunt when Crowley reaches out a hand and…. pets something… but there’s nothing there. He’s petting empty space? A blast of air flips his tie to the side when he moves closer and gets both hands going and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was scratching an animal behind it’s ears. What the hell? “Who’s my favorite doggie?” Baby talk. “My most naughty houndy woundy? You are. Oh yes you are Juliet.” If you’re blood wasn’t still ice cold and your hackles raised, you’d laugh at this ridiculous display; instead you stand there watching in silence and you swear you hear happy panting from the space in front of him. “That’s my girl.” He stops scratching the air and switches to gentle petting as he straightens up; his voice back to normal as he says, “Now, why don’t you go sniff out a fresh damned soul and have yourself a bit of a chase,” Then it turns back into cooing mush as he finishes, “It’ll be so much fun. Go on girl, go on.” The panting stops; quickly followed by a whimper, as Crowley tucks his hands in his pockets and steps back. You feel the displacement of air and the sound of heavy footsteps receding into the distance as invisible Juliet bounds off into a patch of trees, the trunks shivering as she scrapes past at full speed.

Crowley looks on with pride as he watches her streak off into the woods, and then he saunters around the bench until he’s standing in front of you. “Well peach, I’ll see you at dinner.” He comes in fast, his lips pressing heavily against yours and he steals your breath, his tongue diving in to tangle with yours with no resistance. You’re shocked from your frozen stupor; probably his goal, and you pull away from him, your eyes searching his face with a desperate need for answers. “Heh.” Crowley thumbs your cheekbone with a smile, “That my dear, was a hell hound. I happen to have raised and trained a few in my time.” He shrugs, “Everyone needs a hobby.” You still can’t react, you’re just… nope… you just can’t. “Dinner. I’ll see you. Don’t be late.” He plants another kiss on your silent lips and then he’s gone, leaving you standing by the bench as you stare blankly at the spot he just occupied. What in the fuck have you gotten yourself into?


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: This chapter was fun, intense, and totally unexpected. Heh, aren't they all though?  
I promise this will make up for the raging cock-block that was last chapter.  
Damn that Juliet.

On a side note, if any of you like to chat about fics and such,  
you can find me on Twitter - SDAWND@hilrage

 

IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING  
CHAPTER FIVE

 

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Mr. Cuddles occupies one hand while the other is busy shoving tasty nibbles into your disinterested mouth while you sit on the patio staring blankly at the scenery. You’re hungry because lunch was interrupted, but your mind is so overloaded with thoughts of Crowley that you don’t really register what you’ve eaten until there is nothing left to grab from the silver platter. You slowly turn your head, needing visual confirmation that you did indeed eat everything, and then your gaze turns outward towards the garden and the failing light as the sun sinks lower. You suddenly feel extremely exposed, vulnerable; your gut churning at the abrupt fear that Juliet might come back at any moment. Jesus, why didn’t you think of this before now! You swallow your terror; slowly and deliberately moving to the double doors while your eyes scan the landscape, and this time you’re looking hard at everything as you move. You slip through the door, flipping the gold plated latch once it’s firmly shut and you breathe a sigh of relief as you lean your head against the door. You turn and yelp, jumping like a terrified cat because a shadowy figure is standing directly behind you, an arm length away. Where did she come from? You blow out a breath and hold your stomach, trying to calm your thundering heart when you realize that its just Betty.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you, just bad timing and all that.” You tell her it’s ok, you just weren’t expecting someone to be standing there. She gives you a small smile; “I hate it when that happens.” You nod and agree, returning the smile because it’s nice to see her again. You haven’t seen her since you checked in yesterday afternoon and even though you know she’s a demon, she still seems like the same Betty you’ve known since all this started, and it’s kinda comforting. “Well, I came to find you because I wanted to say goodbye,” What? She’s leaving? “And to let you know about a couple of arrangements that’ve been made.” You immediately ask her if everything is ok and she chuckles before answering, “Yes, everything is lovely; it’s just time for me to go back to work, so before I forget, I needed to tell you that you’ve been moved to a different room. I hope they didn’t offend you by moving all of your things without prior notice, but you’ll be staying in the same wing, it will just be suite number four now.” Why did they… Oh. Betty gives you a knowing smile, “I take it you’ve been enjoying yourself? From the state of your room, I would say most definitely.” You blush hard, dipping your head and wishing you could just crawl under a table and hide. “Adorably shy, how quaint.” Betty tilts her head until she catches your eye and then she smiles again, this time with an undercurrent of something you can’t quite place. “You’re a lucky girl, did you know that?” Jealousy? Yes, she’s definitely jealous. With your cheeks still on fire, curiosity pulls your gaze back up to meet hers. Why is she Jealous of you?

That question must be written all over your face because Betty puts her hand on your shoulder, an attempt to reassure you that there is no malicious intent in her statement, “The King fancies you; be proud of that.” She’s being sincere, and you can tell she’s trying extremely hard to bury her emotions, and not give away her obvious feelings. Your grip tightens on Mr. Cuddles and you watch as her eyes shift down to the little stuffed dragon and then back up to you, “Be very proud.” You try to set your face in stone, not wanting her to see any reaction, good or bad. You’re sure she senses the non-verbal hint because she quickly changes the subject; remembering her professionalism before its too late. “I was also told to inform you that dinner will still be at 7pm, but the location has been changed to the dining room.” That’s a big change and you immediately wonder why, but you try extremely hard not to show any emotion when you tell her thank you for the info. You swear she’s searching your face for a reaction and you wonder what she was hoping to see. Betty seems disappointed when she switches gears again and continues, “And last, but certainly not least, Clara wanted me to tell you that your next appointment is ready.” For some reason it feels like you’ve just dodged an invisible bullet; you manage to sound cordial and calm when you ask where the appointment will be, and Betty matches your genial tone while giving you directions.

With a mostly genuine smile, you tell Betty that it was very nice meeting her and to have a safe trip. She’s equally polite when she says it’s been a pleasure meeting you too, and then she turns and heads towards the main entrance with a little wave goodbye. You watch her go, and as the entrance door clicks shut, the built up tension evaporates, leaving nothing to fill the empty space. The building suddenly seems abandoned, which is odd; it’s been fairly empty since the moment you got here, but now, you’re not sure… it just feels different. You shuffle down the empty hall pondering on Betty’s jealousy and wondering why dinner is now in the dining room. You think a thousand thoughts ranging from mushy to self-destructive; you hate it when your brain over-thinks things like that, and you know all you need is a good distraction because almost always, the bad thoughts win and become paranoid and self conscious. You come up on a brightly lit room labeled “salon”; this is the place Betty mentioned and hopefully the perfect distraction.

After stepping through the door, you’re immediately greeted by a lovely blonde named Megan and a dashing gentleman named Ernie. They’re very nice, although their concept of personal space is a little off, because Ernie begins pawing at your hair while Megan closely inspects your face and it’s a bit disconcerting. They sense your discomfort and simultaneously step back with matching apologies. Ernie cracks a joke about you officially entering the twilight zone and they are really just one mind in two bodies; you can’t help but smile at his dorkiness. They start again and this time it’s much better because they set you down in front of a giant, brightly lit wall of mirrors before swooping back in on you. The pair asks you a hundred questions, Ernie about your styling preferences and Megan insists you give her every detail, from how often you moisturize to the brand names you use.

It’s a little invasive at first, but it becomes apparent that they’re both equally exceptional at their jobs, and you’ve already learned at least three pro tips within the first ten minutes so you relax and roll with it. Ernie was joking, but it kinda does feels like the twilight zone, because despite the two of them keeping you company, that desolate feeling never really goes away, the emptiness seeming to wait just outside the door; like working after hours with no one else in the building. Ernie works magic on your hair, or at least you hope that’s what he’s doing, while entertaining you with jokes and stories. Megan adds on to the stories here and there but mostly her face is knitted with concentration as she dabs, brushes, and draws on your face. When they’re finally done, you can’t believe your own reflection. With all the things they did, you were beginning to think you might come away looking like a painted whore, but you’re stunned because you look magnificent. When Clara comes to collect you, Megan and Ernie both get a huge hug and a thank you before Clara leads you out the door and up to your new room.

The emptiness is heavier than before and you’re really glad Clara is with you. She gives you a pleasant smile when you thank her before shutting the door to your new room. It’s a carbon copy of the old one except the view is a little different. All of your stuff is set out just like you had it and you suspect the bathroom will be pretty much the exact same way. You don’t really care, because you’re eyes are locked on the large black box with a burgundy ribbon resting at the end of your bed. Crowley. “The King fancies you; be proud of that.” Betty’s words come to mind as you stare at the box, and you sorta understand why she might be jealous. Regardless of how absolutely wrong it is, you are proud of the fact that the King of Hell has a thing for you. You are so fucked up.

As you suspected, an envelope with your name neatly written on it adorns the package. Your fingers glide across the ink before you open it, and your insides warm at his simple message. ~My posh totty needs to look her best~ He’s certainly not sentimental but you like his sense of humor. You gently lay the card to one side so you can open the box. It’s another beautiful dress, and as you lift it out of the package you can’t help but stare because it’s gorgeous. A similar style to the black one he gave you, but this one is a deep rich burgundy and you’re absolutely sure it will look amazing when you put it on. You hold it to your chest and when you look down, you giggle like a schoolgirl, because nestled neatly in the box is a set of perfectly matching lingerie, just like last time.

You can’t get freshened up fast enough, and you can’t wipe the stupid grin from your face as you slip the lacy panties on and cinch up the comfortably crafted bra. The inside of the dress is lined with silk and it feels divine as it slides across your skin. It fits perfectly and as you predicted, you look absolutely stunning with your hair, makeup, and this lovely new dress. You don’t even think twice about snapping a picture and sending it to Dean. He sent you a text earlier anyways, that read ~Hey girl. Having fun?~ This proves that yes, yes you are, despite all the craziness. You hesitate after sending the pic, immediately wondering if that was a bad idea. Are you being a cock-tease to him like you were with Sam? Hmmm… maybe, but you don’t have time to finish that thought because it seems Dean isn’t busy, and he replies back quickly. ~Holy crap woman! Give a guy warning before sending that kind of awesome down the line. You look amazing.~ Your grin gets bigger, because Dean knows how to say nice things when he wants too and you soak up his attention like a woman starved. You write back, ~Thanks. Another dinner thing I’m attending and I am having fun, how about you?~

Damn it. You ARE a cock-tease. On top of that, you’re playing with fire by talking to Dean and omitting things about what you’re doing. You don’t have to dwell on it though because your phone jingles ~Not bad. Wishing you were here so I could taste those hot lips and run my hand up under that nice dress.~ Holy shit Dean! You’re knees go a little weak and you stand there staring at the screen while you try and come up with a decent reply. Another text pops up before you can come up with anything. ~I bet there’s lace under there and it would be a pleasure to pull them off of you with my teeth. Then I’d make you moan.~ Jesus! Another text. ~Then I’d make you scream. You sound so sexy when you scream my name.~ Your legs give out and you drop down heavily on the nearest piece of furniture because Dean is wrecking you hard and he’s not even in the same fucking zip code. The image of him licking his lips and giggling like a horny little dork while sending these texts is shooting desire straight to your core because that man is a goddamn sin of nature. No human being should ever be that beautiful and you wish he were standing in front of you right now. Dean is the kind of fire you like to play with and you suddenly crave his warmth; really really crave it.

You have to reply; say something, but what? Aha, roll with it… ~It’s even sexier when you whisper mine.~ Wow. Did you just write that? That was good. Damn good. Did you just blow his mind? Maybe, because there’s a delay this time before another message comes through. ~You’re damn straight I’m sexy ;) lol” Relief suddenly spreads through you at that change in tone because you honestly don’t know how much more you could’ve handled, then another message pops up. “Ugh, I’m so tortured. Why did you have to be away this weekend?~ He couldn’t handle much more either, his change in tone is proof. You hate to admit that he’s stupidly adorable when he whines, and you’d love to shut him up right now by nibbling on those delectable angelic lips of his. Great, you’re working yourself up more than he did, and you’re tempted to text that back to him, but you think better of it.

You’ve had a few sexting sessions with Dean before, and they have a tendency to get pretty intense sometimes, leaving you wrecked and craving him hard and desperate; you really don’t need that right now. Dean’s already stirred you up pretty good and it’s layered on top of your craving for Crowley because you didn’t get to finish what you started with him, so it’s best to stop before you wreck yourself completely. You text back, ~Sorry. I miss you too. Hopefully next weekend.~ Dean’s reply makes you smile. ~You bet your ass next weekend.~ Before you finish reading, another message pops up, ~Consider this an official challenge to see who’s sexier.~ A picture text follows and you laugh out loud because Dean took a selfie at an odd angle and he’s winking at you with an overblown expression on this face. He’s so fucking adorkable. The conversation concludes with you texting back, ~It’s a date.~ You heave a sigh, trying to calm down after that little adrenaline rush; but you can’t stop smiling as you wander over and stare out at the ever darkening landscape, your mind weaving lovely thoughts of Dean.

 

<<< >>>

You find yourself watching the clock and every minute that passes, Dean gets gently pushed further from your mind; Crowley crowds back in, frustrating, titillating, sexy and delicious. Your mind wanders to the dreams of him and part of you is tempted to see if you can fall asleep in hopes of having another one, but you’re to wound up. You’ve been mulling it over in your mind and you can’t wait for the next dreamscape because you want to see what happens, and to see if it’s different now. You’re working yourself up with memories of fire, metal, and soft silken cords, and damn it, you still have over a half hour before dinner. This is not good; you’re going to go mad, so you decide it’s time to take a walk. Amazingly enough the shoes that came with this dress aren’t obscenely high heels like you’d think a man would buy, instead they’re short and practical; a comfortable kind of sexy, and you’re grateful for it as you pull the door shut behind you and meander down the stairs to roam.

Perhaps taking a walk was a mistake because the building is empty; you can feel it. Somehow you just know that there’s hardly a soul, damned or otherwise on this whole damn mountaintop. Solitude can be nice, but with the sun hidden behind the horizon, and the only audible sound being muted temple music plinking in the background, you’re kinda freaked out a little. Your meandering pace turns into a determined one as you head towards places where you think Clara or perhaps Megan and Ernie might be; heck, you’d be happy to see jealous Betty right about now too. The salon is empty, and so is every other room you pass; the lobby is empty and there is no one behind the desk. Ok, this is borderline horror movie creepy now, and you hug yourself as a chill crawls across your skin. The clock on the wall says it’s still way to early for dinner… wait… dinner… Renaldo! You want to shout for joy because there should definitely be someone in the kitchen and you make a quick u-turn and head that way immediately.

Besides needing to see someone else alive in this place, you really do want to meet Renaldo, you’ve been wanting to thank him for all the tasty food he’s been preparing and it will be nice to have a face to go with the name. That cold crawl on your skin has abated, but you find yourself desperate to get to the kitchen; it’s absurd, but it suddenly feels like every second counts and the kitchen will be your safe haven and protect you from the creeping emptiness. Relief floods through you, warming away the chill when you spot the doors to the galley. You don’t stop to peek through the large fishbowl windows; you just push through one of the swinging doors and then you turn back to watch it gently close, and you feel safe. There is nothing in the hallway, nothing that would have eaten you, hurt you, or otherwise caused alarm but you truly have no desire to go back out into that empty place at all, so you turn to see how many people are in the kitchen. It seem there’s only one.

“Hello love; got a bit impatient I see.” What the hell? Crowley? Your core stirs nicely at the sight of him but you don’t answer while you process this strange new development. Where’s Renaldo? Crowley’s suit jacket is lying across a stool near the long stainless steel prep table, his sleeves are rolled up past his elbows and his tie is tucked in behind a crisp white apron. He flashes you an amused smirk before turning to season a pot full of something. There are several pots cooking, some lidded, some not and the kitchen smells amazing; you finally find the capacity to speak, telling him that you came here so you could meet Renaldo and say thanks. Crowley has wandered over to a cutting board and he hesitates when you say that; it’s barely noticeable, then he starts chopping broccoli into bite-sized chunks. “Ah yes, Renaldo. I’ll be sure to tell him you’ve enjoyed his exquisite cuisine.” Something’s off, why is he being weird about this? You gently pluck at the thread, hoping to glean additional information when you ask him where Renaldo is. Crowley’s walled off again but you don’t really need the thread to sense that he’s hiding something and that he’s uncomfortable about it.

“I wanted a bit of privacy, so I told them all to bugger off. I’m sure Renaldo is somewhere crafting culinary delights for toffee nosed prats as we speak darling, so don’t you worry about him.” You know he’s telling the truth, but it’s not like he was lying earlier either; it’s just… hmmmm. You tell him that’s good to hear as you walk over and pull his jacket from the stool. You drape it over your shoulders before hopping up onto the prep table and you stifle a squeal when the cold metal seeps through the thin layers of your dress and chills your ass. You should be curious about what he’s hiding, but you can’t make yourself care because your eyes are roaming freely in Crowley’ s direction, soaking up the view while you watch him work. The set look of concentration on his face, the muscles in his arm shifting with each downward stroke of his blade, his feet planted in determination, all of it is so fucking sexy. You suddenly realize you might have a cooking kink, because you really want to sidle up behind him while his hands are busy so that your fingers, and mouth, can explore and tease. Mmmm that is so damn tempting.

It’s clear that Crowley heard that thought because he stops for moment, the cutting board hovering over a steaming pot, his back to you so that you can’t tell what expression he’s wearing. After that noticeable pause, he scrapes the broccoli into the pot, places the lid on top and then he turns and walks the cutting board back to its original location without even a glance at you. Once he’s set the board down, he finally looks in your direction and for the first time since you’ve walked in, he looks at you; really looks at you, and his eyes go wide with pleasant surprise. You can see the lust pooled dark and heavy behind those auburn depths and something in you stirs, your core heating and churning while you both just stare. Good god your monster just turned wickedly sultry in the space of a heartbeat and it takes your breath away. Without taking his eyes off you, Crowley lays the knife down, wipes his hands on the bottom end of his apron and you watch intently as he strides toward you, closing the space between you quickly. You’re looking down at him, perched atop the counter when he stops in front of you, an inch away from your knees. You like this angle, it’s strangely arousing to be taller than the King, and your core turns molten as his eyes slowly skirt up your body, intense and hungry. You can’t help but let out a little moan when you smile, a shudder of pleasure coursing through you, as his gaze locks you in place.

Neither of you moves and silence reigns, the moment left hanging, while a thousand thoughts pour through the thread. Crowley’s wall is suppressing so much, but it can’t stop all of his heated lust and affection from flowing over you like a warm breeze. The moment is broken by needy action when neither of you can hold back any longer, both of you moving in tandem. Crowley runs his palms up your legs as you slide them open, inviting him in. “Come ‘er.” His voice is husky, laced with desire and his hands keep going until his arms are around you, pulling you into him while you grip his hair and tug him upwards towards your eager mouth. Messy and desperate, you attack each other with hunger; Crowley steps closer and you feel his arms tensing around you as he slides you to the edge of the countertop. Jesus he feels so good, that perfect feeling of connection coming back full force as tendrils of affection and lust curl into your core from the thread, and he presses you in tight because he’s feeling it too.

You’re thankful he’s abandoned the gentle touches as his hands roam and grab until they finally come to rest, tightly gripping your ass. You want more of him, you want all of him; you want him inside you hot and hard right now, and you tell him that in a breathy whisper as his left hand pulls you down further so he can bite your neck with a hungry growl. Crowley’s wall shudders and you feel his body tense and heat at your words, and he uses his head to press you backward so he can bite your hardened nipples through the multiple layers of expensive fabric. “Damn it peach.” Crowley mumbles those words against your chest because he’s coming apart, losing control and your breathing turns ragged with each pleasurable shock from his hungry mouth against your breasts.

He’s rough, biting at the fabric, hands roaming, desperately wishing you were naked; and as he tips you back further, his jacket slides off your shoulders and your head lulls back so that you moan his name to the ceiling. One hand suddenly disappears and you feel him fumbling with the apron and his zipper; you whimper, your palm tightening against his scalp because you want this so much. Crowley’s still nibbling, panting against your dress when he finally pulls his shaft free of his trousers; you tilt your head down, catching sight of it and you shudder in anticipation because you want it; damn it, you need it. You spread your legs wider, moaning against Crowley’s lips when his fingers slide up under your dress. He curls them around your lacy panties and you gasp when he tugs sharply. It doesn’t hurt, the fabric snapping with ease, and you shiver at his show of power when he pulls you into another salacious kiss. Jesus fuck that was hot! You attack each others mouth, all slick lips and breathy moans, while he yanks the broken lace out from under you so he can toss it on the floor without a thought.

From atop the counter you’ve practically climbed him like a tree, your legs wrapping around him and your arms circling his neck so you can pull him deeper into your hungry kisses. Crowley is no less fervent, his unnaturally strong arms pulling you in, almost to the point of pain, but not quite. Without warning, waves of warm power slide up your skin; you suck in a pleasured breath because it feels like a dozen strong hands are suddenly caressing and exploring your body. Holy shit that feels so fucking good. Crowley shifts, griping your ass, and he picks you up off the countertop like you're nothing more than bowl of sugar. Motherfuck! You shudder, his blatant show of power shooting straight to your hungry sex. You lick deeper into his eager mouth, like you can’t get inside of him enough and Crowley steps back from the counter, planting his feet while his tongue plays back, dancing with yours. It’s surreal as he stands there holding you in the middle of the kitchen while the knife lays abandoned on the counter and the pots continue to boil on the stove, but you don’t care about anything but your monster; nothing else existing in this moment but the beast you’re clinging to. Crowley’s muscles are tense against your skin and his firm hands are tightly squeezing your ass, but he isn’t straining to hold you; in fact, it’s like he doesn’t even need to touch you to stay in place; like you’re floating, suspended in his arms by that strange force that’s sliding along your skin with its warm caress, and it’s all so wickedly divine.

Crowley slowly consumes you, blocking out everything but the two of you in this place, in this moment, and you let out a shuddering moan as he slowly edges you downward so that he’s nudging at your entrance. Crowley releases your lips, trailing aggressive kisses down your cheek, and when he slowly pierces you, inch by blissfully thick inch, he whispers your name with reverence, burying his face into the nape of your neck. You stop breathing, every muscle in your body going rigid with ecstasy until every hot inch is tight and hot inside. Crowley’s muscles tense with pleasure at the feel of you and he holds you in place, not moving, as his lips find yours again and he groans against your mouth, “Bloody fucking hell peach.” You suckle his bottom lip, watching it snap back into place just before you lock eyes with him, and you feel a wickedly seductive smile spread across your face. Crowley smiles back, flirtatious and inviting, and you see the carnal gleam in his expression when he slowly lifts you up and then down again, sliding you along his aching shaft.

You gasp and then whimper, every bit of him pleasantly filling you up and then he does it again. Up and then down, up, then down, each downward drop sending a new blast of heat to your churning core. Crowley claims your mouth with aggression, a contrast to the slow steady pace of him sliding up inside you, and you realize you need more of him. He’s struggling so hard to keep that stupid wall intact, and it is crumbling, but that’s not what you want right now; what you want is for him to take you hard, you want all of him hungry for you. Your legs are wrapped tightly around him so you shift in his grip until you find leverage, then you help Crowley along by picking up the pace. His entire body stiffens, his hands tightening on your ass, and his breath hitches when you suddenly increase the rhythm.

“Sweet mother of…” Crowley’s surprise is obvious and so is his pleasure when he begins to match your pace, tilting his pelvis upward to meet your downward strokes. “All things…” You lick into his mouth, not caring that you cut off his sentence and you grip his shoulders tightly while you ride him with animalistic hunger. It hits you fast and hard, your climax rolling through every nerve. You make sure to feed it straight down the thread so he can feel every blissful ounce of it as you release his lips, moaning his name with aching nirvana when you shudder through the euphoria. “Sinful!” Crowley finishes his sentence as he struggles to ride you through it, and all you can do is cling to him while he grips you tight and continues to pull you down and then up, down and up his throbbing cock. Such beautiful sin.

Crowley’s power is still sliding along your skin and you feel it getting hotter as he tenses and picks up the pace. Your climax continues to roll in quaking tremors and when Crowley begins to shove you brutally down onto his cock, your silence turns to screams of bliss and your muscles release so that you can once again move, matching his aggressive rhythm. You’ve crinkled his shirt in your fists while he drives into you, hard and merciless and you lose yourself in the animalistic force of Crowley while you shove yourself against him with the same needy urgency. His hands slide up your back and he groans against your neck, “So fucking…” and then he bites down hard, lancing pleasurable pain to your core, “Sinful.” That word trails off into a feral growl when he thrusts those final few strokes with strained pleasure and then he releases hot and hard deep inside you. You scream his name loud and shameless as the maddening wave of ecstasy overwhelms you; then you slowly melt and Crowley crushes you against him. Everything falls into silence as Crowley stands there in the middle of the kitchen, breathing heavily and holding your limp form. You nuzzle against his neck, licking lightly at his stubble while your fingers find the strength to run up into his hair from the nape of his neck.

Crowley’s arms tighten around you but it’s as if you weigh nothing when Crowley moves; he heads towards the double doors, not letting you go, and you certainly don’t want to let go either, because you could stay like this forever. Your breathing slowly steadies as he carries you down the hallway to a little niche where a decorative table, a chair, and a settee are comfortably tucked. Crowley sits down on the settee and he twists, his spent member finally sliding out of you when he lays you flat so he can press down against you. It takes you a moment, but you grudgingly let go and you melt into place as he gently runs his fingers through your hair. Crowley chuckles lightly, “I believe you may need to freshen up that lovely shade of lipstick darling.” Your eyes finally come back into focus enough to take in the view and you immediately giggle. Crowley’s hair is so screwed up, sticking up at strange angles, and your “lovely shade of lipstick” is smeared all over his kiss-swollen lips. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it’s glorious.

Crowley’s expression goes flat and he sits up, leaving you a giggling mess below him while he uses both hands to smooth his hair down. “Never mind that peach. You rest up and I need to make sure you didn’t burn dinner.” He sounds almost domestic, like a scolding wife, but you can’t let him get away with blaming you for a burnt dinner, so with a stifled chuckle, you tell him that it’s not your fault, you were just an innocent young thing, there to pay compliments to the chef. “Hmph. Innocent.” Crowley gives you a crooked grin before coming back in for another long pull from your lips and your arms lazily wrap around his neck. You feel your lust rebuilding quickly, and you feel it in Crowley too when he suddenly becomes focused, intent upon pressing into you and exploring your depths. You can’t right now, you really can’t, because you need a minute to recuperate; so you smile against his lips, sliding your hands down across his shoulders so you can push on his chest. You remind him that burnt food is no way to capture a ladies affections; Crowley complies, pulling away so he can stand up with a scoffing laugh while he tucks his cock back into his pants. “If you happen to see any ladies about, please make me aware of their presence you little tart.” He gives you a playful wink and then he disappears around the corner towards the kitchen. A smile spreads across your face big and bright, because you are most definitely his little tart, and you don’t see a damn thing wrong with that.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:  
Well boys and girls... this is what's known as the climax. hehehe

 

IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING  
CHAPTER SIX

<<< >>>

Once Crowley is back in the kitchen, you take a moment to recapture the experience, closing your eyes and reliving that surprisingly intense moment that just occurred. Apparently he was just as pent up after Juliet’s interruption as you were and now that you know how he feels about you, things are so much more vivid and delicious. Although, you still don’t understand why he’s keeping that damn wall up between you, and you’re itching to break it; you want to smash through it like the frickin’ Hulk to see what’s behind it. You hesitate at the thought because maybe that isn’t such a good idea… he’s not a man, he’s a demon; and honestly, you still aren’t sure exactly what that could mean if he were to let go and let the wall crumble to dust. You don’t dwell on it because you’re sure it’s just a matter of time before it does happen and then you’ll find out whether to regret it or not. Apparently Crowley is making you want to live a little dangerously; either that, or everything you’ve been through has jaded you just a bit.

Your body still hums with pleasure as you drift in a haze of contentment for who knows how long, and eventually it occurs to you that laying here alone in an empty building is no fun at all, so you head to the bathroom to clean up. Turns out that your makeup wasn’t smeared on you nearly as much as it was on Crowley, and you can’t help but giggle when you think of his tousled sex hair and the lipstick spread across his stubble. You touch up, working with what you have because Megan didn’t give you a color tube for the road. You also make sure to clean up the rest of you too, especially considering the fact that your underwear is laying broken on the kitchen floor, which will make for a slightly awkward yet tantalizing evening. When you find yourself acceptable in the mirror, you head back towards the large double doors of the kitchen, and this time, the abandoned feel of the building isn’t nearly as unnerving and creepy. The emptiness is freeing because there truly is no one else around for miles; it’s just you and your monster.

Crowley has just pulled the apron loop over his head when you enter the kitchen, and he looks you over thoroughly as he lays it down on the nearby countertop. He’s back to his usual smooth look, the only thing missing is his suit jacket and his sleeves are still rolled up to his elbows. “Mmm, you’re lovely as ever peach; shall we?” His eyes pull your gaze towards the door leading to the dining room and he gestures for you to go first as he expertly lifts up a tray with two domed platters on it. You head into the dining room and it’s just like before, sensual lighting, quiet music playing, and the single table set for two with the others sitting empty except for their black and red roses. Crowley moves past you so he can set the tray on a nearby table and he’s such a gentleman, pulling a chair out so that you can sit, and you make sure to graciously thank your King. Crowley begins unrolling one sleeve as he passes you, on his way to his seat, but you stop him, grabbing his hand before he’s out of reach. You don’t want him to unroll his sleeves. He raises an eyebrow at you and then rolls it back up before setting across from you at the little table. You smile as he settles in, because you didn’t expect him to obey that request, and now you can’t keep your eyes off of his bare arms.

It would have been easy for Crowley to pick up the platter of food on his way to his seat, but he obviously likes to be dramatic, and you can’t help but love that about him. He’s leaned back casually in his chair, his eyes sweeping up and down all the parts of you he can see as he lazily gestures towards the tray of food. You watch in awe as the smaller plate, moving much faster than his hand, sails in mid-air until it lands concisely in front of you. You try and bite back a smile, but it doesn’t work because there’s something so alluring about his casual show of unearthly power, and his absolute control of it. Good God he’s frightening, and amazing! He calmly leans forward and plucks the lid from the plate with his smirk still intact, “God has nothing to do with it love.” It shocks you every single time he does that, because you keep forgetting that he can read your thoughts without hindrance. Your eyes find his and they’re full of devious depravity as he purrs, “It’s just you…” His smirk pulls into an impish grin, “And me.” You suck in a sharp breath because his tone is dripping with carnal promise and it’s making your skin tingle with anticipation.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath; your heart thunders loud in your ears as your body heats at the delicious memories of how it’s been with “just you and me” before now. When you open them again, Crowley’s still sitting there watching you; one arm casually perched on the back of the chair so that it can prop up his head while he continues to smile. He doesn’t move a muscle, his demeanor gives absolutely no warning at all, which is why a startled gasp escapes you when Crowley’s power suddenly slides gently across your skin. It’s pleasantly hot, and it feels so unbelievably good when it wraps around you and presses you against the chair with notable force. Excitement tingles deep in your core as his power coalesces into what feels like warm silken cords binding your arms, legs and torso to your seat. Your heart continues to pound against your chest and your eyes stay glued to Crowley. He flicks his wrist, an absentminded gesture, and the chair you’re now tied to, sweeps around the table and comes to rest right next to his. His expression turns intense when he shifts, spreading his legs and planting his feet so that he can pull you even closer to him. You’re chair is pulled in tight, his inner thighs brushing your knees which are a fraction of an inch away from the edge of his chair; you’re so close you can feel the heat radiating from him and you wish you were closer. There is hunger in his expression, all traces of his casual flamboyance are gone, leaving nothing but the intense energy of your monster full focused on you. “Much better love, don’t you think?”

You don’t have time to answer because he leans in a steals your breath with a demanding kiss, his tongue dipping deep and forceful, and when he pulls away you try to follow, wanting more. You don’t get far because the only part of you that can move is your head, and you’re eyes silently plead to be released when you tell him that he isn’t playing fair. “Fair?” Crowley’s eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, “I’m the bloody King of Hell, why on earth would you ever think I’d play fair?” Damn his cocky ass, it’s horrible that it makes him even more desirable, which also isn’t fair. You go to protest but he comes in quick and stops you with another fervently salacious kiss. You melt into it, simultaneously loving and hating him, and your core stirs into a molten pool of heated lust when his fingers curve up into your hair, pulling you deeper into him. Crowley forces himself to pull away, gently sliding his lips across your cheek as he whispers a quiet, “Shhhhh.” You obey, swallowing any arguments you may have had, and you tilt into it when Crowley nibbles your ear, “I wanna play for a bit.” Jesus! He’s almost scary with how intense he’s being and you quietly purr Crowley’s name, shivering when his stubble scrapes against your jaw, because you like him this way. “It’s such a rare treat.” He nips at your mouth and you sigh, “Almost as rare,” His tongue darts between your lips and then it’s gone again, “And delightful as you are peach.” He’s so fucking sensual, his accent adding to the allure of his words, and if he keeps this up, he’ll make you climax without ever touching your naughty bits.

You’re not sure when it happened, but the plate that used to be on the other side of the table is now easily within Crowley’s reach and when he pulls back, leaving you cold, untouched, and wanting, you finally take your eyes off him and look down at it. The delicate china has an artful display of fresh sliced peaches, all beautifully cut into bite-sized pieces, with a sugary glaze drizzled in a spiral design from the center all the way out to the edge of the plate. Crowley did this? Of course, peaches for his peach. Your core heats up even more at the thought of him meticulously arranging this plate for your enjoyment, and when you look up at him, Crowley is watching you. It’s obvious that he feels your appreciation through the thread without you having to say a single word out loud; you bite your lip with a smile, because you’re pretty sure you know what he has in mind when he smiles back, heated lust burning behind those deep brown pupils.

With great care, Crowley gingerly picks up a piece from the plate between his thumb and pointer and with a devilish smile, he brings it to your lips. It’s not a patronizing game of here comes the choo choo, it’s an open ended invitation to play along, and this game has the potential to be so much fucking fun. You muster every ounce of sexiness you have, and with your eyes lidded, you part your lips with a wanton sigh. Crowley moves in closer, gently pressing the fruit past your lips so that it lays cool and delicious on your tongue. You close your eyes, savoring the flavor, barely chewing as it melts wonderfully in your mouth, and then you swallow it with an appreciative moan. When you open your eyes again, Crowley’s expression is even more fierce, intense, and hungry; he likes the way you play. He looks away long enough to pluck another piece from the plate, his legs rubbing torturously against yours when he moves, warming your skin in it’s wake, and then he’s back to watching you.

Another bite, another moan, and this time Crowley chases it with a kiss, mixing his strange flavor of fresh-spiced cinnamon with the fruit. It’s strange, exciting, and it tastes better than you ever imagined it would. Again you follow when he pulls away, eliciting another coy smile from him before he brings another bite to your mouth. As fun as this is, you’re body is vibrating with the need to touch him, taste him, feel him; so this time your tongue flicks out, curling around the fruit and pulling it into your mouth. Crowley’s surprise is evident, his fingers hovering in place because you’ve caused his brain to hitch. You lean in, capturing his pointer finger between your lips and he breathes in, sharp and appreciative, when you gingerly begin to suck. “Fuck me.” Barely a whisper as he gapes, and you can feel heated lust radiating from him while he watches you with glazed eyes. When you pull back, leaving his finger trembling and wet, Crowley swoops in fast, thrusting his tongue between your slick lips and you bask in his ferocious hunger.

You feel his need for you seeping through the cracks in the wall he’s built; it’s creaking, cracking, you feel it shuddering as it tries to hold back whatever it is that’s inside your demon King. This has been such wondrous torture, but you can’t take it anymore; you ache for it, wanting every piece of Crowley just like he’s claimed every piece of you. Goddamnit you want it! You want him, you want Crowley, the King of Hell; the wicked demon who somehow kidnapped your heart is everything you need, like a fish needs water, and you will have him NOW. Suddenly your limbs are free from his invisible hold, and you’re not entirely certain that Crowley let that happen. He makes a surprised noise when you grab his tie and push him back into his chair, all while still tangling your tongue with his. Your other hand pushes his legs together and you straddle him as he sits shocked and pliant. You dive into him, continuing to tug on his tie as you lick deeper into his mouth with desperate need. Sitting on his lap you pull on his tie again, whispering against Crowley’s spit slick lips that you want him, that you need him, all of him, every single bit of him and that you will have it right now. All he can manage to do is kiss you back, his body slack, his mind still trying to process what you’ve done.

Honestly, you’re not certain how you managed to get where you are and you don’t care right now; the significance of it trivial compared to what you’re craving. You focus everything on Crowley and you’re emotions crash against that damn wall of his, slapping up against it like a raging storm. Finally you feel it give with a quaking shudder that turns into crumbling submission and you feel your monster tense, cursing against your lips as you pull him in deeper. It feels like a tidal wave when it hits you hard and merciless; a red wave of molten heat blasts through your mind, drowning out everything like Crowley’s very existence is swallowing you whole. You hear a whimpering cry, it sounds like your voice, but you’re not certain because nothing exists except the beautiful red heat of your monster, and he’s all you can feel. Crowley is everywhere, his need, his desire, his love, cascading through every part of you, mind, body, and soul and it’s indescribable. You’re suspended in a burning furnace of carnal passion, the eroticism of it conquering you, lavishing every molecule with the engulfing feel of Crowley and it’s truly transcendent. More than any orgasm, your body vibrates with the sublime rapture of him overpowering you, consuming you, worshiping you, wrapping you in it’s voluptuous sensuality; it’s magnifying everything and you lose yourself completely.

Time has no meaning as you float in this indecent place, every part of you convulsing with each new wave of Crowley as he washes over you again and again. Suddenly there is pain. Pain? Why is there pain? The taste of iron bleeds through the red; blood? Are you bleeding? Yes, you are. You have a body; you vaguely remember that. The tiny thread of pain anchors you, pulls you down towards what can only be your own physical form. “Peach?” The haze of red where you’re floating begins to fade as you drift down, but you don’t want to follow that tentative thread towards something tangible. You want to burn in the furnace of Crowley’s mind, consumed by him entirely. “Peach?” The red fades to a muted haze of black and everything feels cold compared to the heat of your monster’s overpowering consciousness. Breath. You feel someone breathing; the rise and fall of a chest, and a whimpering moan vibrates everything. Is that you? Yes it is; you feel your own lungs filling with air, your own voice humming deep in your throat and a stinging pain on your lip.

Your eyes slowly come back into focus and he’s there; Crowley is right there, and your body burns red for him. He’s nudging at your cheek, nipping at your ear and then his voice comes out as a rasping worried purr, “You still with me love?” That voice, Crowley’s voice, it resonates through every fiber, tethering you fully back into the moment. You can still taste the slight tang of iron where Crowley bit your lip, and you’re still straddling him in the middle of the dining room of the Chateau Gehenna while he leaves teeth marks on your collar bone, and this time you drown in the physical feel of him. You hiss out a yes to the empty room when he bites your neck, the pleasurable pain sending a burst of heated lust to your core. “Good.” Everything feels so different; a surreal kind of crimson, blurred by a gauzy layer of unending euphoria that amplifies every brush of Crowley’s lips, every caress, and every firm press against his body. If you can’t burn inside his mind then you’ll ignite his flesh; you’ll send smoldering heat to his core, and you will have him.

Abruptly you break out of your stupor, and again, Crowley is left surprised. It feels so strange to be back in your body, but you like the feel of the silk-lined dress sliding against hot skin when you stand up. A salacious purr escapes when you pull Crowley to his feet by his tie. His surprise has made him pliant again, which is exactly how you want him. Your purr turns to a wicked little growl when you grab his shirt and tear it open. This time there was no help from him; there was no need, because you could feel yourself harnessing that invisible force, feel it slithering down your arms to tear at the buttons on his shirt. You don’t take the time to think of what you’ve just accomplished; instead you enjoy the sound of his shock, and you smile when his eyes go wide. You feel the power skimming down your arms once more and you take extreme pleasure in ripping his undershirt from his body with a power-laced jerk of your hand, just like he did with your panties. “Bloody hell!” His bare chest is heaving and you can see his cock straining painfully against his zipper as you absently toss the tatters of his undershirt to the floor. The world is still tinted with that magnificent red haze and you find yourself reveling in Crowley’s reaction, his body tensing when you step into his space; you feel like the monster right now and it’s incredible. Both of your hands card through his hair and he quickly melts as your hands glide along his fevered skin, your lips capturing his in a hungry kiss.

That gauzy haze of pleasure is still undulating, dancing and teasing all around you, and through you, and even now you can barely handle the raging inferno against your lips, but it’s exhilarating as you bask in the feel of your tongue dancing with his. You pull Crowley in tighter, that strange red power you’ve borrowed, seeping from your hands so that it can curl along his skin. You feel what it feels, and you revel in the sensations it’s feeding back to you while claiming him hard and aggressive. You continue to ravage him without protest, his mouth pressing in just as hard as yours and your focus splits so you can concentrate on the red heat of Crowley’s energy. You begin wrapping warm threads of power around him while you slide your hands down his neck, his chest, and you hum in appreciation when your arms slide around his body and your fingers trace the lines of his shoulder blades. With reverence, you quietly whisper Crowley’s name against his swollen lips.

His surprise is gone, replaced now by overpowering lust; his eyes are lidded when his fingers snake up into your hair and he nibbles your jaw just before you hear his gravely whisper, “That’s right love…” Then your monster’s demeanor changes, his body going stiff and commanding. His fingers curl into a fist and you feel the muscles in his arm tense when he yanks, pulling you away by your hair so that he can lock eyes with you. They’re shining with wicked suggestion and you feel that gauzy red haze heating the very air in your lungs as he growls out with an obscene kind of eroticism, “I’m Crowley.” Your sex quivers in appreciation of his sudden commanding violence and you feel his energy overriding yours; drowning you out with simply a thought. A lecherous smile decorates his features as Crowley’s power overwhelms you, a thousand simmering hands sliding along your skin, teasing, caressing, playing and you whimper because you like it way to goddamned much. This time it’s you who goes slack with submissive pleasure because Crowley is certainly more seasoned than you, and you melt beneath the intensity of him. Every inch of your body is being stroked by that hot red energy and you close your eyes with a shuddering moan when his hand slides out of your hair and curls around your neck, squeezing your windpipe with gentle strength.

There is a familiar rush of air and the feeling of displacement, which forces you to open your eyes. You know they’re glazed and hungry as you stare at Crowley in the darkness, and you wonder where he’s teleported you. It looks like your room, but it’s dark, inside and out; so you can’t tell, and you don’t really care because Crowley is holding your neck and his voracious need is flowing from the open connection in waves, surrounding you, entering you, drowning you. Crowley’s thumb rubs along your jawline as he pulls another kiss from you, then his free hand comes up and with a concise snap of his fingers the entire room is instantly illuminated in the red haze of candlelight. You can’t help but gasp in pleasure at his blatant show of power and his eyes stay locked on you as a hundred candles flicker and burn. Fire; mmmm the red heat of your dreams come drifting into your mind, another layer of heady lust atop the rest, and you suddenly ache for Crowley even more, wanting nothing more than to have every part of him on you, around you, inside you. Your monster is magnificent and you want more, oh so much more.

With a salacious chuckle Crowley’s hand grips tighter and you see the wicked gleam of crimson forming behind his dark pupils when his arm tenses and he lifts you off the ground by your neck. You don’t grab for him; your form loose and shivering with pleasure as you completely accept his dominance. He holds you aloft with barely a thought and his power continues to ghost along every curve and crevasse of your body while you dangle in his grip. You get lost in the feel of your monster engulfing you, closing your eyes so you can completely disappear into the ecstasy of it. Something pulls at your shoes and you feel them drop to the floor. A muted whimper escapes when a thousand invisible hands tug at your dress, pulling downward until you feel it slide from your pliant body to lie atop your shoes in a silken heap below your feet. Your whimper turns to a gentle moan when you feel Crowley flick his free hand, corresponding perfectly with the clasp releasing from your bra. Those thousand hands pull your bra down and off so that it can join your dress on the floor below; then they resume their pleasurable torment of gliding gently along every part of you.

Crowley’s grip loosens and disappears from your neck but you stay exactly where you are. Jesus Christ! He’s not even holding you up! His hand slides up along your cheek before his fingers gently run down your neck and chest until they capture one of your sensitive nipples with a soft tug. His other hand massages the opposite breast and you suck in a breath when his teeth gingerly clamp down on that nipple, shivers erupting throughout, as you hang suspended in mid-air. Crowley’s hand stops massaging so that it can slide around to your back and with a hungry moan, he presses you into him while his tongue sparks pleasure to your molten core. A tiny part of you wonders how it looks, Crowley standing here in the soft light of a hundred scattered candles, his shirt hanging open to reveal his pale chest as you hang in the air, naked, pliant, and whimpering with each touch and lick the King of Hell graces you with. You whisper his name at the thought, another shudder making your sex quiver in pleasure.

“Mmmm peach.” Crowley pulls away, leaving you suspended and craving. You open your eyes to find his eyes roaming everywhere, you can feel them soaking up this deliciously indecent spectacle he’s created and you can’t help but moan, tensing with pleasure at the knowledge that he likes what he sees. You watch each other for a moment and you like what you see too, because Crowley looks so fucking sexy as he stands there in his dress pants with his sleeves rolled up, his shirt hanging open, and that crimson hue tainting his eyes. The only warning you get is the quick flick of Crowley’s wrist before you’re pulled with extreme force from the air, down onto the bed, your back now pressed into the comforter by Crowley’s invisible hands. Your monster’s hungry lips steal your surprised gasp and it turns into a moan as his weight presses down on you, hot and magnificent. Crowley’s tented crotch presses promisingly against your aching sex as he claims your mouth hard and hungry, and you drown in the delicious feel of him.

You gulp in air when he finally abandons your lips and you watch intently as he sits up on his knees so he can pull his shirt down and off his body. Good god you want to touch him, you want to feel his heated flesh against yours, to taste it in your mouth; you try and lift your arms, to bend and sit up, but Crowley has you pinned to the bed by those thousand roaming hands. “Ah ah ah.” His bare fevered chest presses down on you again and you lift your head, straining to have Crowley deeper into your mouth as he kisses you with gluttonous need. He bites your lip again and this time you feel the abrupt shock of pleasure/pain as it shoots straight to your sex like a bolt of lightening. Crowley hums against your cheek before clamping his teeth down on the sensitive lobe of your ear. You gasp when another bolt of pleasure shocks you deep and you writhe against his power, because you’re drowning in his attention and you aren’t sure how much more you can take.

“Remember pet…” His words vibrate your neck as he moves down. You whimper when his mouth engulfs one of your breasts and tendrils of bliss ignite your body with a gasp when two of Crowley’s fingers gently glide into your slick heat. “I wanted to play.” A suffocating orgasm tenses your body as he hums against your tender nipple, and he moves up to lick at your gaping mouth while he continues to slide his fingers in and out of your quivering sex, enhancing and prolonging it. “You are so fucking fun to play with.” Your hands curl into the comforter as you ride the euphoria and you barely register what’s happening, not realizing Crowley has disappeared until you feel the heat of his breath against your inner thigh. Is this reality or is this your dream? You can’t tell anymore and you disappear into the raging red of absolute ecstasy when Crowley’s hot tongue licks against the wet lips of your sex. Holy fucking god! You can’t breathe; another orgasm washes over you, stronger and more intense than the first while Crowley feasts on your aching heat. You’re getting lost in the red haze again, drifting back towards the ravenous heat of Crowley’s depths while his tongue dances against your clit. It feels so fucking good… so… fucking… good. You writhe, straining against his power and you feel it changing, bending to your desire while the King devours you with hot breathy moans.

It’s like moving through thick molasses but your hand finally breaks free so that it can rest in Crowley’s hair. You feel him shiver with the pleasure of you fighting while he feasts and he presses in harder, his tongue invading you with carnal hunger. Your orgasm continues to roll, like thunder caught in a valley; it roils and rumbles, quacking your limbs and stealing your air. Your hand becomes a fist as you arch your back, the resplendent decadence becoming almost intolerable because you need him inside you so fucking bad. You need more than Crowley’s wickedly silver tongue as it dips into your heated core. You need something more, something bigger and infinitely more satisfying; but Crowley seems intent on his indulgent worship of your body. You can’t take it anymore; you just can’t, so you beg. Shameless and panting, you beg for what you want, beg for all of him to be inside of you. Crowley stops, his hot breath causing quakes of bliss as his eyes skate up your naked body to lock with yours. You can’t see it, but you can feel him smile against your sex before he pulls away so that he can sit up on his knees. Gazing down at you, he wipes his mouth on his arm; that wicked grin never leaving his face as you lay below him panting. He’s cocky, and he’s so fucking sexy it hurts.

The smug bastard, he thinks he’s won some sort of prize because you’ve begged, you can see the glint of triumph in his eyes; but now that you’re no longer drowning completely in the feel of your monster, you’ve been given one desperate drought of air and it’s enough to cement your resolve. You WILL have him, and it will not be solely on his terms. You close your eyes and concentrate; you can’t begin to understand how you know what to do, but you feel Crowley’s power bending to your will and with everything in you, you force that power to move from your body to his. Your skin is still flushed with heat but you immediately feel even more naked and exposed, like a warm blanket has been pulled away from you so that it can wrap around Crowley. You open your eyes to find him still on his knees between your legs and yet again tonight, there is a look of shock on his face. Now that you’re truly in control of it, you can see it, the power; it’s beautiful, like shimmers of fire gently drifting across his skin as he sits there immobile and speechless.

You concentrate again, and with extreme satisfaction you watch as the power slides Crowley off the comforter so that he stands unmoving at the foot of the bed. His jaw is set with commanding defiance and you can see the mix of emotions roiling behind those crimson pupils of his; resistance, satisfaction, admiration, but mostly there’s curiosity. You climb off the bed and stand in front of him; your legs are weak from pleasure and at the moment you’re equally terrified and aroused by what’s happening, but you do your best to look confident behind a Cheshire cat grin. You close your eyes and flex your mental muscles, feeling the power squeeze him in tandem with your thoughts and when you open them again he’s still watching you intently. His voice is quiet, not threatening, but there is lecherous malice laced throughout that beautiful accent of his. “I see my pet has some teeth after all.” You come in quick, pulling his head towards yours so that your tongue dives between his accepting lips. He tastes like cinnamon and sex and it’s glorious; you pull him in deeper and you can feel him twitch, wanting to touch you, to have you, but he’s not allowed.

This level of power and control is intoxicating and you almost climax again when Crowley clamps down on your neck; he sucks heavily at your flesh when you pull him into your arms, pressing him against your bare breasts. He’s making it hard to concentrate as you shudder, but you close your eyes and you can feel it when his socks and shoes are forced off of him with just a thought. You want him naked, you have yet to see Crowley completely naked, and it’s not fucking fair, so now that you can, you WILL make it happen. You rest your forehead on his collarbone as your hands work on unbuckling and unzipping his dress pants, and Crowley chuckles against your neck before going back to making another purple mark on your flesh. He’s still so smug, still thinks he’s in control, the bastard. The beautiful fucking bastard King of Hell. Mmmm your monster is still making it hard to concentrate but you don’t mind.

You tuck a fist into his hair, pulling him from your neck so that you can slide your tongue between his lips and your other hand tucks into his loosened pants so that you can grip his bare ass. Squeezing firmly, you pull him closer, grinding his still covered crotch against your leg and you feel him stiffen with pleasure. Crowley moans into your mouth and he melts into you, his control slipping just a bit. Fucking yes! You pull away, nipping at his jaw, and when you close your eyes and concentrate again; you can feel his eyes piercing into you. His heat disappears and you can’t see, but you can sense his body moving without his permission towards the bed. “Bloody hell peach!” You don’t respond to his surprised protest, you want him on his back, pressed down and unmoving, so you concentrate harder before opening your eyes to find Crowley exactly like you want him, laid out like a crucifix. You chuckle at that touch of irony, and you don’t hesitate to advance on him, ripping his loosened pants and boxers from his body with ease. It’s your turn to gaze upon the indecent spectacle you’ve now created and a very naked and aroused Crowley is fucking wickedly delicious.

You know that Crowley will never look submissive, his eyes shining crimson as he watches you from the bed, but right now he looks vulnerable, and that’s exactly how you want him. He must have endless patience when it comes to torture, and you suddenly appreciate that trait as your eyes skate up and down his naked body. You had every intention of torturing him, teasing, licking, and playing; but seeing his stiffened cock lying there aching and ready, destroys any self-control you may have had. Crowley is surprisingly silent as you crawl up the bed towards him; he just continues to watch you with curious lust-filled eyes. Your nipples brush along his naked skin as you climb up his body and your lips ghost across his aching member, eliciting a quiet hiss from your King. You taste as much of him as you can before your tongue stabs between his pliant lips; you straddle him, grinding your sex against his cock, and naked flesh against naked flesh feels so goddamn good. “Peach?” No. You shush him, telling him there is no way he can stop you from getting what you want. You give him no time to protest, pulling away so that your upper is body is propped up with one hand and the other is lining him up to your entrance.

Crowley sucks in a sharp breath when he enters you, “Fucking…..” His body strains against your hold on him as your eyes stay locked with his, and shudders of ecstasy roll through both of you when you press down so that every throbbing inch is buried deep inside. Jesus fucking Christ! With one hand still propping you up, your other is twitching against his cheek as your sex clenches in euphoric splendor. His eyes bore into you as you tilt up and then down again, every bit of him sliding wonderfully inside you. In, and out. In. out. In. Out. Crowley finally breaks eye contact, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing through the mind-blowing feel of your silken heat. You smile in triumph. “Let me go peach.” It’s a whisper, almost a beg. Almost, but not quite. In. Out. In. Out. You continue to tilt your pelvis, reveling in each drop of your hips and shuddering when your nipples drag along his chest, rippling tendrils of decadent bliss throughout your body. Crowley’s hands curl into fists as they remain laid out straight and you can feel your control slipping when he writhes against the red power. You continue to move, sliding him in and out, in and out. Crowley is coming apart beneath you with choked moans, and you nibble his stubbled chin with a lecherous smile. “Let me go.” Still quiet, not a command, and not a beg, but there is promise in those words and suddenly you’re curious.

As easy as letting go of a pen, you release Crowley; and before you can take another breath, his power floods over you, drowning you again in it’s salacious heat. “Oh yes love.” Your monster’s hands come alive, roaming along your naked body and pressing you down against him as his tongue stabs into your mouth. It feels so fucking good to be held by him and you whimper into his mouth as he overwhelms you. You forget to move, you just lay atop the King with his shaft piercing you deep and throbbing, while he grabs your flesh and claims your mouth hard. Abruptly you feel him move, Crowley wrapping around you and rolling so that now your back is pressed into the mattress instead of his. Crowley’s weight and heat are a comfort as he continues to devour your lips with hungry kisses; then he moves and you gasp into his mouth because, fucking…. Jesus god it’s divine.

“I admire…” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. “Your pluck darling.” Thrust, thrust. You suck in labored breaths when he talks, only to have them stolen again with each down stroke of his cock deep into your core and his tongue fucking your mouth with fervor. “You have…” Thrust. Thrust. You claw at his back, lost in the rhythm of resplendent sparks that ignite your body as he splits you open. “So much potential.” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Nnnngh your body goes rigid with an explosive climax; your back arching off the bed as you cry out Crowley’s name in strained exultation, your hands clawing absently at his arms. Thrust. Holy fucking god! “You’re MY peach.” Thrust. “And you’re beautiful.” Thrust. He keeps pounding into you, each shuddering stroke erupting spots in your vision when he drives into you, filling you with decedent rapture. Crowley laps at your mouth, his tongue diving behind lips frozen in mind-numbing gratification while he continues to power into you.

“My beautiful peach.” The whole world is crimson, fevered, your mind and body floating in a gauzy haze of resplendent bliss as Crowley encases you in his heat. Every part of you belongs to Crowley, mind, body, and soul. There is nothing but your King as his affection crashes over you, tearing at your soul with hot carnal need and you submit to it; submit to him. You come unraveled, all of you releasing, letting the world fall away until there is nothing but your shameless love for him, giving all of yourself to the King. Like a deluge you flow into him, forceful and overpowering and you both drown in the torrent. Like a rumble of thunder you hear the King of Hell whisper your name in awe and then he envelopes you; his arms wrapping around you, one arm up under your shoulder so that his hand can curl into your hair, gripping you tight, and the other tucked under the arch of your back to press you closer. You pull him in just as tight, one hand still clawing at his rigid back, the other on his ass and your legs wrap around him when he buries his face almost painfully into your neck. Crowley shudders through his own release with a long gratifying growl, filling you with his pent up heat and you scream his name loud and broken until he finally begins to melt. His body becomes a heavy blanket as you both lay still, panting hard, and unable to move.

Forever goes by before either of you attempt any sort of motion; Crowley is the first to shift, his stubble scraping against your cheek as he lifts his head and runs his fingers along your tear streaked face. Wait? When were you crying? You can’t remember. All you can remember is Crowley, beautiful, wicked, impossible, terrible, magnificent Crowley, and you smile. He smiles back; that genuine breathtaking ‘lights up his eyes and melt the sun’ smile that you’ve only seen once before. Your heart is still pounding in your ears but you hear it flutter, and so does he. That smile fades slowly into something intense, calculating, and perplexed. You feel everything he’s feeling and right now Crowley is confused. He’s lost in unfamiliar territory, uncertain of what he just felt and unsure of what just happened, and there is the tiniest spark of fear. Your monster is afraid? No, no you can’t have that; your lips are raw and swollen but you pull him into a kiss, long, slow, and consuming. Using the open connection, you will him to just go with it, accept it, to just be ok for your sake and his. Please Crowley, just allow it without question; don’t be afraid.

He lazily kisses you back, almost reverent as he lays atop you with his fingers still tangled in your hair, and your legs still wrapped around him. You can tell this is nothing like the Winchesters, your power is merely a suggestion to the King of Hell, not a command, and your tongue continues to gently explore while he silently considers your request. “Hmmmmm.” Crowley hums against your lips and you feel his muscles tense, preparing to move, but you don’t want him to, because he hasn’t decided yet. You have very little strength right now, but you cling to him, silently telling him not to move. A soft, amused chuckle comes from him and he nudges your cheek with a gentle kiss before he tries again. Your grip loosens on him, allowing him to slide his spent cock from you. He maneuvers to the end of the bed so that he can put his feet on the floor, then he scrubs his face with his hands and smoothes his hair down to a manageable flatness before turning to you. Without warning he scoops you up into his arms just as easily as picking up a small kitten and he presses a kiss to your tortured lips. He shifts you in his grip and your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, clinging to him as he stands up. “You’re one hell of a piece of work love.” Crowley sounds impressed as a newly minted smirk decorates his features. The connection between you has gone from a raging torrent of overflowing emotions down to a gentle trickle, but you can tell that he’s accepted it, accepted whatever this is between you, and his compliance feels like a warm breeze against your soul. You melt against his bare chest as he carries you into the bathroom. “Let’s take a shower, shall we?”


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note:  
Wow. A whole lot of life happened since my last chapter. Sorry it took so long.  
So... I guess I should drop a warning, because it's the thing to do I suppose.  
Actually, I'll just say this... I've added it to the main warning list, so if you need to know, go there and try and find it.  
Warnings are spoilers in my book and spoilers take the fun out of everything.  
Now, enough about that, go get yourself some more Crowley.

  
 

IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING  
CHAPTER SEVEN

 

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Your shower with Crowley is less than innocent and you swear the only reason you can move is because of your ability to borrow the red heat of his power, using it to keep you upright as needed. The hot water, and Crowley’s firm hands wash away some of the fatigue, but his appetite is insatiable. You both shudder and moan through several more climaxes before you finally towel off, and Crowley watches as you stretch out on the chaise lounge wrapped in a soft lavender robe. As you stare into the night sky, you realize this view is familiar. This is your original room. You’re pretty sure they didn’t need all this time to clean up the lunch mess, its just that Crowley had all your stuff moved so he could set up this room the way he wanted. You look around at the countless candles scattered across every flat surface available, including the floor, and you can’t help but smile. It’s oddly comforting to be surrounded by their soft dancing warmth and you’re secretly pleased that your monster is overly dramatic. Because of that character flaw this has become one of the most amazing and surreal weekends of your life. So yeah, you definitely like that about him more than you probably should, and you’re not ashamed of it either.

You yawn and stretch, your body still pleasantly numb after your shower with the King, and now that you have a little time to relax, it dawns on you that you never finished dinner. “I was wondering when you’d remember dinner, love.” Absorbed in the view, you didn’t pay attention to what Crowley was doing and when you realize he’s right behind you, your muscles tense for a moment as his hands sneak under your robe to run down between your breasts. You relax immediately, reveling in the feel of it as he slides them back up so that both hands are around your neck. Crowley’s thumbs begin massaging gently, causing your head to lull forward because he feels like a comfortably hot towel and his thumbs are rubbing just the right spot. Dinner does sound very enticing, but the idea of wandering all the way down to the dinning room for what is certainly a cold meal at this point is kind of disheartening. Crowley chuckles, “Lost a bit of your pluck I see, perhaps this will help.” His right hand disappears from your neck, his fingers snap, and then he’s back to massaging that magical spot on your nape with his skilled digits.

You’re reluctant to raise your head, because a comforting sleepy stupor is settling in, but curiosity wins out and you lift your gaze to find the domed plate sitting on the little table by the window. Crowley gives your neck a pleasant squeeze, “Sit with me.” One of his hands disappears while the other ghosts down along your shoulder, and arm, until it finds your hand. His grip is firm, almost demanding as he tugs at you, silently asking… no… telling you, to get up. His hand feels so amazingly good in yours and as your fingers thread through his, tingles run along your skin; you give in, grudgingly uprooting yourself from the lounger. Your mind is vaguely wondering how he found room on the table with all the candles, but that thought is quickly scattered when Crowley pulls you into his arms and the red haze of his power encompasses you, making you float as it rubs pleasure along every inch of your body. He’s back to wearing pants, but he’s barefoot and shirtless, and his skin presses against yours with a sultry promising heat. Suspended in his embrace, Crowley’s soft lips and course stubble warm your collarbone as he nibbles and kisses. You’re shamelessly engulfed by your monster as your fingers run through his hair while whispering his name with reverence, and you wonder exactly when you became so comfortable in the presence of a demon king.

You started out so shy with Crowley, almost star-struck like a damn fangirl because you had dreamed of him so many times before, night after night. Then he showed up in the flesh, sultry, commanding, bathed in lust, and it literally became so much more than you could ever dream. You drowned in his attention, shocked and dumbstruck, unsure of how you could capture the attention of such a creature, despite the tether you knew was there all along. Crowley was and still is overwhelming, and when you saw that tiny glimmer of a soft side, it blew your mind; but it finally put you on equal footing, giving you something to cling to. He was no longer this unattainable, unexplainable creature; he was Crowley, and he became yours at the same time you became his. Tonight has been a little different though, you touched Crowley’s very essence and it was breathtaking. It almost consumed you, swallowing you up like the big bad wolf did to dear sweet grandma, and you’d be lying to say you didn’t want to feel it ever again. The crimson heat of his mind, the sensations, the emotions; Crowley’s tainted presence feasted upon you, an overflowing massacre of fierce power, and the only thing that saved you from it was Crowley himself. You remember the concern in his voice, the anchoring pain from his deliberate bite of your lip, the relief you felt from him when you came back yourself. Oh how kind and generous your king is; because he could have overtaken you, shattered you with his formidable intensity, leaving you nothing but carrion to be mourned over.

As terrifying as that should be, knowing that without control he could easily end your life, you enjoyed the depth of it more than you will ever admit out loud. On the other hand, you will also never admit how good it felt to push back; to control someone so powerful, even if only for a short time. Mmmmm the way it felt to have him at your mercy, asking to be released; a shiver of heat courses through your body at the memory. Your thoughts fracture when Crowley’s hand slides up your leg and his fingers brush your sex. You feel another beautifully purple mark forming on your shoulder where he’s been working and you shudder against him when his fingers slide deep into your heat. Fucking hell, Crowley is wonderfully relentless. As you sigh quietly against his neck, you can’t help but wonder if he’s corrupted you. Demons used to be the things of nightmares, silent screams in the dark unforgiving corners of terror, but not anymore. You can’t help but need this particular demon; he’s your beautiful terrible monster. Does that mean you’re corrupt or is it merely a change in your view on life? You don’t feel any different at your core. There are no sudden urges to torture, maim or kill anyone, so does it matter if he’s stained you just a bit? Crowley’s lips ghost up your neck, shaking you from your thoughts once more, and by the time his lips capture yours; his tongue stroking yours with tender caresses, you kinda really don’t care if you’ve got a little demon in you.

Crowley’s fingers are still dipping into your quivering heat when he tugs on your hair, holding your head in place while he sucks gently on your bottom lip. Another wanton shudder runs through you and then he chuckles against your lips, “You had that in you long before I ever touched you darling.” What!? “With a coy smile he pulls away, his fingers sliding from your sex, the very last thing to leave your body and you can’t help but lean into it, wanting the pleasure to continue despite what he just said. Crowley heads to the little table, wipes his hand on one of several available napkins, and then with a smile, he pulls a chair out for you. “Sit down peach, I know you’re hungry.” He beckons you with a nod of his head as his hands rest on the back of the chair; he looks like he didn’t just turn your world upside down with that little statement and you kinda hate him for that right now.

As you comply, tucking your robe along your legs as you sit, you’re torn between lust and a demand for more information, which causes your features to pull into an expression of noticeable displeasure. “Oh come now, don’t shoot the messenger.” Crowley’s red power wraps around you again, like a comforting hug, and as he stands behind you, he brushes your hair back so that he can press a kiss against your cheek. He doesn’t understand that you’re not mad; you’re just terrified of what he just said, and you really aren’t sure if you want to know what he means by it. Are you legitimately tainted by a demon you met long before you ever touched the one who’s gently suckling your neck? Starkly painful images play across your mind; the demon in the alley with crimson eyes laced with murderous intent, and the black eyed demon outside of Bigerson’s who would have happily ended your life had he not been looking for information.

Crowley’s power encompasses you with soothing heat, his breath leaving a warm patch against your cheek as his arms wrap around you like a shield against the shivering darkness. The terror melts away, leaving only Crowley and you’re ok; but you’re positive that you don’t want to ask the question, so you turn your head and your lips tease distractingly against his. Your hand slides up his cheek as you press him closer and Crowley leans in so that he can pull a deep kiss from you; it’s lingering and lustful, and when he pulls away, his hands remain a moment longer before he finally moves to his seat.

Crowley doesn’t say a word as he sits down across from you; he just leans over and plucks the lid from the plate on the table with a smile. Steam rises, alluring and impossible, and the fear from one minute ago is forgotten completely because you’re wondering how in the hell the meal set before you can look so fresh, hot, and delicious. Crowley made a dish of chicken and vegetable manicotti with a savory looking alfredo sauce. So that’s what was in all those pots. Remembering the kitchen brings with it the feel of riding Crowley hard and loud as he stood there holding you, and you can feel the flush of heat creeping up your face as it replays in your mind. You hear a contented hum from Crowley and you know he’s reading your thoughts. You blush a little harder and stare at the plate, trying not to get him worked up again, because you really do need a little bit of a break. Parsley accents one corner of the delicately decorated china and a thick slice of Italian bread is perched perfectly on the other.

Everything looks so mouthwatering. But how? It’s been long enough that it should be cold and clammy. Crowley catches your eye by tapping the domed lid, and you look up to see him pointing to a set of runes etched inside. “One of the perks of being a son of a witch.” He winks at you. Son of a witch? Is he being serious? You raise your eyebrows at that. The look on his face says that, yes, he is one hundred percent serious despite his nonchalance. Wow. The crafty bastard knows magic; will he ever stop impressing you? Why wouldn’t the King of Hell know magic and have a witch for a mother… it’s only fitting. You already know the answer, but you ask him if he’s serious anyways, hoping that Crowley will elaborate, and that single question turns into hours of talking.

 

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He starts out vague and almost evasive, but after your dinner is long past eaten, Crowley has opened up and its’ enjoyable to hear his stories despite the violence and morbidity spread throughout them. Laying with your back against the heat of his chest, both of you are stretched out on the lounger so that you can see the moon hanging low and brilliant through the picture window. Crowley brought you Mr. Cuddles and he’s wrapped tightly in your arms while your monster’s fingers absently play with your hair, and you dare not tell him that this is dangerously close to actual cuddling. The mood has been light, both of you freely trading stories from your past even though you figured he wouldn’t be interested in your boring human life; but he surprised you by asking questions and prodding you to tell him more. You also didn’t expect him to share, and after a while he even admits that it’s strange for him to do so. He chalks it up to the fact that you put him at ease, which is such a rarity, or so he keeps claiming. When you both finally fall into silence, his fingers still drifting along the edge of your face and into your hair, you realize how frighteningly personal that long and tangled conversation was; Crowley’s hand stops mid stroke and you wonder if he was reading your mind and just realized the same thing.

A moment later, Crowley’s fingers pick back up where they left off, sliding along the same path as before with a calming rhythm. Your body remains wrapped in the ever-present attention of Crowley’s power, but since dinner it’s merely been a comforting cloak of warmth against your skin instead of the stimulating play of carnal pleasure, and the thought of sleep begins to sound really good. You begin to wonder if you should stay here or go to the other room to sleep when the memory of jealous Betty floats to the surface of your mind. You smile to yourself, hugging Mr. Cuddles a little closer, because she probably has good reason to be jealous. You know that Crowley gets whatever he wants, which includes whatever sexual gratification he’s in the mood for, but you also somehow know for certain that they are just fucks, an enjoyable means to an end to pass the time and nothing more. It sounds eerily similar to Dean; you remember when he felt obligated to tell you how, um… ‘experienced’ he was, and how he thought you’d be upset. It broke your heart, but not because you felt slighted, betrayed or jealous, it just sounded so frickin’ lonely; and your only response was to make long slow love to him that night.

Crowley seems exactly the same…. but… do demons have the same kind of feelings as humans? Part of you is convinced that this is all in your mind and demons have no real capacity for the emotions you think you’re receiving; you don’t really want to confirm that they don’t feel, but the other part of you is so tempted to ask in the hopes that Crowley will prove you wrong, so you remain torn. As you lay in a sleepy daze against his chest, your mind chugs through different trains of thought until they’re all tangled up and you quietly mumble out a question before you realize what you’re doing. You ask him why he disappeared on you at lunch. Your monster shifts, rocking your entire body and stirring you back to wakefulness. Your mind slowly sputters back to life, making you realize exactly what question you’ve left hanging in the air. Crowley’s arms slide around you, low and comfortable… holy shit that feels like a cuddle… no... it can’t be. You can sense his thoughts as they sift through his head, roiling and uncertain but you can’t quite figure out what he’s thinking. After a very long pause he answers. “I’m not accustomed to….” He stops, it’s obvious he’s searching for the right word, and you know that he really doesn’t want to answer this question. You remain still and quiet, absently playing with one wing of your dragon until he finally finds the right one, and then he chokes it out, “Feelings.” He forces out the syllables like they’re vial and unsavory. Well that answers your question, but you don’t care because something about that sentence has struck your funny bone and a huge smile spreads across your face, making you grateful that Crowley is behind you.

Maybe it’s because you’re still tired and there are sleepy cobwebs in your brain, or maybe it’s the way Crowley seemed so abnormally violated by that word; either way, it’s funny and you can’t seem to hold down the ludicrous urge to laugh. You know that you’re taking this all wrong, but it’s ridiculous! You wept long and hard when he disappeared, and apparently it’s because the King of Hell was cowering in a corner somewhere, afraid to feel the feels? You try not to laugh but the imagery of that sentence is making it difficult, and you really should be ashamed of yourself. You’ve both been sharing some pretty heavy shit over the last couple of hours and you never once thought less of him, and you still don’t; but for some reason this is hysterical. You can physically sense the deep frown on his face from behind you while you breath out low and quiet so that you don’t laugh out loud. “You find my discomfort amusing?” Damn it, you failed at keeping that a secret for more than two seconds and the haughty tone of his voice ramps up your mirth instead of chiding you into the proper response of pity and understanding. You break, snorting out the tiniest little laugh, and you feel him tense behind you. “I tell you something like that, and all you can do is laugh?” Oh man he sounds upset. “And you dare call me the monster?” Yup, he’s upset; his chest has puffed out and his whole body is tense, so you choke back your laughter in hopes that you can respond, sitting up and turning to face him before you do.

Yup, definitely pissed off, and when you see the haughty anger in his eyes, it strikes you wrong. Your urge to laugh is immediately replaced by your own pent up anger. He has no right to be mad; he wasn’t the one left naked and crying on this very floor, and that thought goads you into saying something stupid. You look him straight in the eye and tell him that demons used to be so terrifying; things of nightmares made of blood death and horror, but you laughed because they’re not scary anymore, they seem a tad bit comical when they’re scared of something so mundane as feelings. His frown deepens as you continue, and you put a touch of arrogant spice in your voice, shoving Mr. Cuddles down onto the cushion with contempt when you tell him that humans deal with feelings every damn minute of every damn day and if a demon can’t take something so simple as a couple of emotions, then they’re nothing to be afraid of at all. As you finish the sentence, you realize just how personal you made that statement without meaning too. You thought you were over it, over him leaving you in a crying heap of devastation on the floor, that you’d chalked it up to him just being him, unable to help it because he’s a demon; apparently not. You instantly regret everything you just said and the hellfire burning behind Crowley’s autumn colored pupils makes you shrink in on yourself a little bit, instantly re-igniting your fear of demons because, really truly, they still are pretty damn scary.

With absolutely no preamble, the warm wrap that’s been undulating against your skin hardens into something uncomfortable and you’re snapped off the lounger and pressed against the cold unforgiving glass of the window. The air is knocked out of you as Crowley’s power presses on you heavily, like a giant’s hand with its palm firmly on your chest and its fingers firmly planted on every limb, rendering you immobile and leaving your back exposed to the chill of the window pane. You focus on breathing, trying to suck in the air that was so brutally shoved from your lungs and when you can focus again, Crowley is standing only inches away. Your eyes widen when they look into his, a crimson blaze that promises torment, and you wonder if he is capable of feeling emotional pain. “Oh yes peach, I very much can, and do.” You’re feet are barely off the floor, making it easy for Crowley to press into your personal space and you stifle a whimper as he runs his hand along your cheek and up into your hair so that he can grip it tight. “I need you to understand something darling…” You’re so fucking stupid; why did you say those things? Why? Why did you pick a fight with the King of Hell?

“Demons don’t fear emotions, peach. Rage, lust, jealousy, gluttony, vanity, greed, and pride… the seven deadliest are what we feel…” His lips ghost along your jawline, his breath warming your skin when he continues in a seething whisper, “And they FEEL…” he presses his body against yours for emphasis, “Really fucking good.” You quietly gasp at that unexpected level of contact. Crowley’s free hand slides your robe off one shoulder and his mouth clamps down hard and hot. Your mind is reeling, your fight or flight instinct is stuck, and you have no idea how to react or what to do; your body doesn’t seem to care about your brain because your core is set alight by Crowley’s aggressive attention and proximity. Through the confusion, you do understand one thing, you hurt his pride; Jesus, you hurt his fucking pride and it was a stupid thing to do. Crowley chuckles against your flesh; that terrifies part of you, while the other part is relieved. “Yes it was very stupid, and perhaps you did hurt it just a little bit my dear,” Fuck his ability to read your mind! Crowley pulls the knot of your robe free and he presses in against your naked front. You bite back a moan when the warmth of his body adds to the power that’s holding you captive. “But that’s not the point.” Your heart is hammering with a mixture of terror and arousal, and now he can feel it as the smooth planes of his chest grind against your bare breasts. Your nipples harden and shivers erupt as he rubs against them, and you gasp silently when Crowley’s pulsing erection grinds against your crotch.

Your monster is surprisingly eager, and you’re terror slowly melts away to be replaced by a growing lust. “Did you know that demons are built on the foundation of the seven sins?” It’s rhetorical, so you don’t answer as the hand Crowley has kept tucked in your hair forces your head into a deeper tilt. He pauses his little lecture to clamp down on your collarbone, sending ripples of disjointed pleasure and pain throughout your body. “They’re what make demons, demons.” The red power begins to shift, loosening just the tiniest bit, and it begins to pulse with a pleasurable heat. Your body is shuddering from his attention and you no longer want to escape, you just want to be set free so that you can touch him like he’s touching you, because he’s getting off on this; Crowley is enjoying every moment of this despite the fact that you pissed him off… or maybe he’s enjoying that part too, you can’t tell, and right now you’re starting to get off on it too.

“All demons have one that’s more prominent than the others,” Crowley’s words run a hot trail down to your left breast, shifting from sharp and threatening to liquid and arousing as he goes. “One that defines who we once were and what we sinned to become.” His mouth aggressively engulfing your breast drowns out that last word, and you buck against the window as his tongue plays, shooting pleasure straight to your core. His teeth graze your nipple as he slides his lips off, eliciting your first pleasurable moan since being trapped by his rage. “But that’s all we ever feel.” His words vibrate against your skin as he moves to the other one and you gasp when he repeats, his mouth taking as much of you in as he possibly can while his tongue teases your aching nipple. “Just those seven.”

Holy shit it feels so good and you flex against his power, hoping he will set you free as he licks, nibbles, and devours both of your breasts with solicitous hunger. He’s channeling his anger, turning it to lust and now that you know he’s enjoying this, mmmm how he’s getting off on this, everything feels different. Goddamn it feels so fucking good, and your adrenaline is adding a heightened flavor to everything, which is driving you dangerously close to a climax. You still aren’t submissive, your muscles still straining, but they begin to loosen up because the feel of Crowley grinding against you is a wonderful tease and the feel of his mouth on your skin is a wickedly delightful torment. “Mmmmm.” Crowley senses your pleasure and he grinds his cloth-covered shaft harder against you before he continues. “Do you understand me peach?”

You don’t answer, your mind desperately trying to remember what he just said while he ravaged your breasts with blissful strokes of his tongue. Crowley doesn’t like that you weren’t paying attention, and he makes his displeasure evident by releasing the pressure on your body for a moment and then pressing you against the glass even harder than before, his hot body adding additional strength to the gesture. “Do you…” He licks up your neck and bites your chin, “Understand?” Your body quivers at his angry strength and his words come back to you loud and clear, allowing you to gasp out a quiet yes. Crowley hums approvingly against your cheek and then he tilts your head towards him so that his tongue can slide between your lips. He nips at your upper lip. “Good.” Then he attacks your mouth with aggression and hunger. His fingers slide out of your hair, trailing downward until they’re on your hips where his other hand has been resting; he kneads your flesh with unnatural strength, almost bruising, while he continues to delve deeper between gasping ragged breathes. Crowley captures your lower lip and you whimper when he bites down hard enough to draw blood. It hurts, but for some goddamned reason it’s turning you on so fucking hard, so you lean your head forward, trying to recapture his mouth. He rewards you with a deep fervent kiss; the iron tang of blood washed away by the delicious cinnamon of your monster. The mind-blowing feel of his tongue against yours distracts you from the feel of his power as it slowly pulls your legs apart. When you realize what he’s doing, your body flushes hot, and the anticipation of him driving into you hard and heavy manifests as a wanton sigh against his lips.

“Then you understand that all other emotions are foreign…” The red heat ripples and as Crowley presses you against the glass with strong hands, he steps back so that you can feel his power sliding down along your skin so it can pool at your crotch. Jesus! What is he doing? “And invasive.” To emphasize his words, Crowley makes the invisible heat slide along the lips of your sex and you feel it push up inside you. Holy fuck! You gasp, your body trembling at the decadent feel of it stroking up inside you. The power is still all over you, pressing you, holding you, rubbing you, but this is new; it’s inside you and it feels way to fucking good. Your eyes roll back as your back arches into the invasion, Crowley’s power and those strong hands keeping you pinned in place while it slides in and out of you. Your monster’s voice comes out low and sultry, lust dripping from every syllable as he fucks into you with nothing but his unnatural power. “My point is,” Oh god you feel it, invisible silken heat splitting you open while your demon merely stands there watching you come apart. “You need to appreciate what I feel.”

What you feel is Crowley’s power nudging at your other entrance, gently rubbing and relaxing the muscle there while his hands distract you by sliding up to your breasts. “Do you appreciate it peach?” You don’t answer because his fingers tug on your nipples, his tongue dives deeply between your gasping lips, his power continues to slide heavily into your sex, and now you feel it slowly pushing into another hole as it start to invade your ass. What is he doing? Crowley? The King growls against your lips, “You better appreciate it.” He’s being aggressively gently, which you didn’t think was possible, but you moan into his mouth when his power coalesces into what feels like a hot slick finger as it slowly enters you. Holy fuck! You shudder and convulse at the over stimulation of Crowley’s attention because every part of you is filled now. His tongue continues to steal your breath above, while his power slowly glides in and out of both entrances below in slow undulating pulses. Your climax hits like a freight train and you cry out his name as he leans against you, the window is still cold and unforgiving at your back while his heat encompasses everything else and you tense through the euphoric bliss. You feel Crowley smile against your skin as he moves so that he can hum against your ear, and with a quiet whisper he continues talking while your climax rakes over your body, “Appreciate it because it’s something I should not be capable of.” You suck in a labored breath only to have it stolen by your monsters mouth as he quickly moves back to invading yours. Crowley’s words hit home, piercing your heart. You get it now, you understand, and all it does it fuel your orgasm as it continues to throb through your body.

You barely take another breath before you feel Crowley’s cock sliding deep into your sex. Jesus fucking Christ! You gasp and claw at Crowley, suddenly freed from his hold on you as he pierces hot, substantial, and deep. His power is still fingering your ass, like a sex toy you never knew you needed until this moment. That same power is now teasing your clit as his throbbing dick thrusts up into you, and it’s maddening and mind blowing. All of him in you, on you, around you, all those sensations combine and cause another shuddering orgasm before your last one has even finished. Your arms wrap around him, your nails digging into his back as you bite down on his neck so that you don’t yell any louder than you already have. Your eyes are squeezed shut as each thrust shoves you against the window. You moan heavily at each upstroke of his cock, and you groan at each gentle slide of the power in your ass as it sends bursts of resplendence through every nerve. Holy Christ he’s filling you up, stroking your insides in all the right places and you get lost in the feel of it as Crowley’s stubble scrapes against your swollen lips, his tongue running wild trails along any part of you within reach.

“Bloody hell…” Crowley bites your jaw and his next thrust is harder and deeper than the one before. Your nails scrape down his back and you vaguely register that his pants aren’t in the way as you grab his ass and pull him in deeper. “The fucking things…” He pants against your neck, his cock hollowing you out, his power filling you up as he keeps you trapped against the window. Crowley pulls your arms off of him so that he can press them against the window, and his hands run smoothly up their length until his fingers thread into yours. “You do to me.” Crowley’s grip is firm but controlled as he holds your hands, and his eyes are sparks of red as he stares into yours while still shoving heavily into you. “Mmmmm peach.” His voice is labored, he’s close to orgasm, and you love how it feels when he becomes so intense; focused and all consuming. You can’t help but find his lips, dipping your tongue deep between them as his grip tightens and his muscles pull taut.

Your climax has never really waned and as he starts to pick up the pace, you feel it building into another wave. Mmmm the things he does to you are far more intense than the things you do to him, and you quiver against him as his rhythm picks up speed. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Crowley’s breathing has turned ragged and you know he’s on the cusp, and you want nothing more than to help throw him over the ledge into blissful release. Your climax breaks over you in another wave, magnificent and overwhelming as he shoves you into the window time and time again. You drown in the euphoria of his cock stabbing deep, his power still teasing your clit and ass, and his hands are painfully tight in yours as you ride through the rapture of it. You bite his jaw and nuzzle close to his ear so you can whisper in an almost silent breath that you want him to cum for you. Crowley moans deep, his hands releasing yours so that he pulls you away from the window, his arms wrapping around you with crushing force. Thrust, thrust, thrust, and then he stills; muscles pulled tight and straining as you feel him pulse hot and deep inside you while you gasp out his name in shuddering reverence.

You go limp in his arms, satisfied and exhausted and Crowley leans forward, pressing you against the window again while he catches his breath. He nuzzles your neck and his fingers slowly slide out of your loosened grip and he runs his hands down your arms and body until they rest on your hips. The hot feel of his power slowly disintegrates and he slowly slides out of you, leaving you feeling empty. You’re knees go weak and you can barely stand, but you still have your wit, and you comment that making him angry wasn’t so bad after all. Crowley chuckles against your skin. “It’s generally not recommended love.” You smile as he pushes your robe the rest of the way off your body while capturing your mouth in another deep kiss. “Bed?” His thumb is rubbing your cheek as he cups your face, looking for an answer. You nod pathetically and Crowley’s lips curl into a cocky smirk before helping you over to the bed. You really want to knock him down a peg, you know, keep that ego of his under control, but you have to concentrate on standing while he peels the covers back.

Crowley goes to help you into bed but you brush him off, trying to play it tough as you clumsily flop into bed. Once you’re down, you don’t even try and move; the bed feels to fucking fantastic. You can tell Crowley is still smirking, the bastard, but you don’t protest when he uses his power to scoot you over and position you so he can slide in behind you. It feels nice to have him against you like that, his body a nice line of heat against your back, and you let out a little moan of contentment as he brushes your hair out of your face. His arm wraps around your waist and he plants a gentle kiss on your shoulder and you don’t dare tell him that this is dangerously close to cuddling too. Your mind wanders, a haze of mashed up thoughts, all focused on Crowley as you lay there, and before you realize that you’re speaking, you ask Crowley another question. This one is much less controversial than the last when you ask him what was in South Dakota?

“What?” His confusion is evident and you wonder why on earth your asking this random-ass question as you stir your brain enough to explain that it was the deal he made with Sam and Dean in the warehouse to stop the spell that was affecting you; they had to stay out of South Dakota for awhile. There is a pause, then Crowley laughs; full-bellied, hearty, genuine mirth filled laugh. You might be insulted by that if you were awake enough or had enough energy to care, but all you can do is wonder what’s so funny. It takes him a minute to settle down and then with a lingering chuckle his voice comes out soft, almost a purr, “Oh peach, you are full of surprises.” He plants another kiss on your shoulder, “Between you and me darling… there was absolutely nothing in South Dakota.” It takes effort, but you roll so you can read his face, and Crowley smiles down at you while you blink up at him with bleary tired eyes full of confusion. He shrugs before explaining, “Meh. I just wanted them to agree to something. Couldn’t have ‘em thinking I’m running a charity now can I?” You stare blankly for a moment, processing that, and then you smile back because that’s pretty damn funny. You roll back into your original position while quietly agreeing that hell should certainly never be run as a charity. You have no idea what happens after that because you drift off to sleep in a matter of seconds, the heat of Crowley’s presence pressed firmly against you while his hand ghosts from your shoulder down to your elbow and back again, in gentle sweeping strokes.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Well this has been a crazy train of a chapter set.  
I went into this having no idea what Crowley would do and let me just say,  
he turned out to be a million times more surprising, sexy, and hotter than any Hell I ever thought imaginable.  
This is the final chapter in the King series and it's a doozie.  
I hope you've enjoyed the ride.

 

 **IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING  
** **CHAPTER EIGHT**  

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“Hello darling.” Those two words echo through the depths of your soul as fire and metal coalesce around you. Mmmmm you feel at home in this place now, savoring the heat, appreciating the tang of cold metal instruments and the warm musk of aged leather. Your monster is right behind you, the scent of cinnamon and mulled spices fill the air as firm hands warm your hips where they’re gripped tightly. There is no blindfold, no gag, but just like every other dream with him, you can’t move; and when his hands loosen so they can slide up your body, you realize that it’s not flesh against flesh, but its no less tantalizing. His touch skims possessively over the thin vinyl catsuit that encompasses your body, which oddly enough, leaves you feeling far more exposed than nudity ever could, and you purr at the alluring sensation.

As always, you’re on display for your King; your legs open wide, your feet firmly planted on either side of the comfortably fit spreader bar, and the tailored cutout of your suit leaving your sex exposed and aching for attention. Your torso is pulled taught, the large metal hook holding your arms above your head stretching you long and tight as the silken cords creak against the vinyl where it entwines your wrists. Your breasts are bare, the suit cut into perfect circles around each one, as your chest heaves in anticipation. Your monster is an artist, macabre and maliciously beautiful, and he pulls a moan from your lips when his hands cup your breasts and his firm heat presses against your backside. “I want to play.” His breath warms your ear, his voice sending shivers of pleasure across your skin, and you quietly sigh in reverence as his fingers gently roll your nipples.

He’s naked, you can’t see it, but you can sense his nudity as the King continues to press against your back. Your monsters cock is hard and throbbing as it creases the catsuit, making it tuck in between your asscheeks as he grinds with lustful need. “You are so much fun to play with peach.” You moan at his words, and then you let out a gasp when he pinches both nipples to the brink of pain. His hands slide down your body, one planting on your stomach so that he can press in harder while the other hand continues slowly south; but your nipples still feel stimulated, squeezed with pleasurable pressure. The beasts’ teeth sink into the soft flesh of your neck and you tilt your head to the side, angled downward so you can witness his work. Mmmmm cold metal; each nipple is graced with a small clamp hooked together by a finely wrought chain that dangles down into a gentle arch between your breasts. You tense and shudder when his fingers drift between the lips of your sex with a slow tortuous rub; and your body heats, your breath catching when his other hand hooks the chain between your breasts so he can tug gingerly, all while your king’s massive shaft grinds harder against your ass.

You whisper the demons’ name, Crowley. The power behind that simple act convulses your body, bucking you against him with pleasurable need. You’ve never spoken that word in these dreams before and his name echoes throughout the room in the same cadence as the sultry tone whispered from your lips. “Yes love, I’m here.” As if to emphasize his proclamation, your monster shifts downward, sliding his cock against the vinyl suit, following the crack of your ass, until its tucked between your legs; then he moves back up, groaning with pleasure as he pierces you with his heavy heat. You cry out his name again, breathless and wanton, as he fills you up while his fingers still rub maddening patterns against your clit. His other hand sends tendrils of carnal bliss with each tug of the chain, and his mouth nips hot trails across your back and neck. Holy fuck it’s too much, your core quickly builds to a crescendo and you can feel the edge of the precipice where you’re perched, on the verge of falling into the yawning euphoric darkness. “Mmmm yes.”

Each up thrust of your monster’s cock spikes heat into your churning core, every moaning breath from the beast behind you sends resplendent quaking shivers throughout every nerve, “Fucking beautiful peach….” He groans, his teeth clamping down on your shoulder as you buck against him because you want more, you want harder, faster, more, more, Nnnngh more. “It’s always been me, peach.” You gasp, moving any way you can in the harness he’s made for you, wanting only to have him closer. Fucking yes! More, more, harder. “Every…” His tongue slides along the rim of your ear as he pumps in hard for emphasis, “Single…” You gasp again at another powerful stroke and he grips you tighter, “Time…” Another rasping moan, another hard stroke, “Mmm darling…” Your monsters grip loosens, his hands suddenly roaming along the lines of your body in reverence as the upstrokes into your core steady to a gentle rhythm, “Always me…” You turn your head, aching to taste the mouth panting against your cheek, “Always….” His tongue slides between your lips, then back out again, “Me.” He bites your lip, tugging on it while he picks up speed, his shaft hollowing you out with its size and splendor. Always him…. It’s always been him. The full realization of those words sink in, jolting you deep as your beast thrusts into you with gratifying need. The knowledge of that phenomenon is too much, and without permission, everything begins washing out to a muddy red. NO! It fades to an empty blackness. You don’t want to go! Now there is nothing but darkness and heat. You want to stay here with your monster! Your mind screams, silent and futile, as wakefulness pulls you back into reality while you claw and scream to go back.

 

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You wake up gasping for air, disoriented, confused, and your body is aching with an ever-building lust. What? Where? Focus. Focus on the little things…. Sheets, soft silk sheets rub against your skin. What else? Darkness and light; the room is dark, but the full moon is providing ample light as it highlights furniture and the stubs of candles. Is there more? Yes. Warmth; like a furnace against your back, your monster is wrapped around you, pressing down on you. Pleasure; Are you still dreaming? Mmmmmm pleasure. He’s everywhere, fingers teasing one nipple, his teeth pressing delightful little dimples into your shoulder, his cock pulsing hot and hungry deep inside you. Jesus! He’s inside you! “Welcome to the real party, love.” The cobwebs of sleep evaporate instantly with those words and you gasp when Crowley starts to move, humming with pleasure against your neck. Holy fuck! His dick slides in deeper, and his red power laps at your clit like a hungry tongue while his hand kneads and pinches your breast. Sweet fucking sin! So good, you gasp again because it feels way to goddamned good.

Pressed down almost completely on your stomach, Crowley starts to power into you, thrusting with deep heavy strokes as you groan loudly into the mattress. For such an odd position, you’re not uncomfortable, either that or you just don’t care because each thrust of Crowley’s immense shaft erupts fireworks through every nerve. You moan out his name, which fuels him on even more; thrust, thrust, thrust, as that invisible tongue continues to explore your clit. “So fucking beautiful….” Pant, thrust, lick, thrust, grind, moan. “When you say my name.” Your hands fist into the sheets and you move with him, meeting his upward strokes with a buck of your hips… just like in your dream. Holy shit he’s in your dreams! It’s really him there with you! That realization hits you now in the waking world and your body shivers with flushed heat at the implications. Thrust, lick, pinch, bite, groan. He’s been yours long before now, and the thought of him truly being the monster within that red dream world gives your core a burst of lustful fire. A mind-bending climax rolls over you, loud and shuddering.

“Yes peach, fucking yes.” The connection between you is wide open and you feel him vibrate with the intensity of your orgasm, as waves of heated need flow from him. Christ he needs you so much. Like a starving beast, he’s insatiable, overpowering and intense as your climax feeds the monsters appetite. You ride through it, your shuddering cries muffled into the sheets as your body tenses with euphoric ecstasy. It feels so fucking good and you need it, you need him, like a fish needs water, you fucking need him bad. That silent proclamation allows you to harness Crowley’s surreal power; without knowing how, you wrap it around him and he stops mid stroke. You want more of him, deeper, harder; and he hangs there suspended while you slide him out of you. The emptiness is excruciating and you’re desperate to have him filling you again. You turn over, positioning on your back so that you can look into those lust filled hellfire eyes. Mmmm he’s so fucking delicious as he looks down at you, his muscles straining as you hold him still. He won’t beg, he will never ever beg, he has too much pride to ever let that happen, but you know he wants it, he wants you, and you want nothing more than for him to take you.

It’s as simple as unclenching your fist when you release him from the invisible hold and Crowley doesn’t hesitate; his mouth is on yours instantly, his tongue exploring with urgency. His cock lines up and he’s not gentle when it sheaths deep inside again. You groan into his mouth, his rhythm unrelenting as his tongue tangles with yours, sloppy and passionate. It’s building again, another crescendo of euphoria threatens to drown you and you claw at Crowley’s back while his mouth steals your breath, nips at your jaw, and bites at your cheek and neck. Jesus he’s way to goddamned good; your monster, so mind blowing and tenacious. He suddenly stops. “I’m not good love,” He bites your lip, smiling as it snaps back in place when he pulls away. It’s a wicked smile, full of carnal mischief and he presses his cock in deep, hips pausing when they’re flush against yours. Laced with sex and desire, his voice is husky and alluring when he growls out, “I’m Crowley.” You can’t help but smile at the cocky little prick before he dips down to tuck his tongue between your lips again. You writhe beneath him with a pleasured purr, and then Crowley pulls out, leaving you empty and aching. Before you can protest, he thrusts in hard once more, forcing a whine from your lips as your eyes flutter shut against the storm of fireworks. Mmmmmm yes; he is Crowley, and he’s yours.

He holds still, giving you a moment to catch your breath; when your eyes meet his again, the motherfucker winks at you, his grin turning lopsided as he thrusts in hard again. Jesus Christ! Your back arches, your fingers claw at him, and your breath catches in your throat because this time he doesn’t stop driving into you. Crowley licks at your frozen lips while his cock penetrates deep and satiating. Nnnnnnnnngh Holy…. Another climax rolls over your body, pulling every muscle taught. Nnnngh Crowley. Your mind is washed in crimson and you feel the heat of hell on your skin when Crowley growls like a feral beast against your neck. Resplendent shivers claw across your flesh, arousing and overpowering as he rides you through the decadent euphoria.

He’s coming apart; you can feel it as your beast begins to quake and clench. His growl continues to roll in his throat and it turns into a bellowing groan as he stabs into you hard and unrelenting. You suck in air, not realizing before now that you weren’t breathing; then you exhale with a long aching moan, matching the upward volume of Crowley’s yell while he jackhammers into you with unparalleled strength. Your climax won’t stop, rolling through your body like an angry wave, splintering your mind into a dazzling haze of decadent bliss. Just when it becomes almost unbearable, almost too fucking good to handle, Crowley’s body goes rigid, his shaft stabbing into you as far as physically possible before he releases hot and hard with another gravely bellow. Crowley’s name leaks from your lips in a strained cry, your muscles just as tense and quivering as your monsters until you feel him slowly melt against you, his frame now heavy and almost suffocating on top of you.

Crowley’s breath is coming in shallow pants as he presses his forehead against yours while running a gentle hand across your cheek, “Goddamn it peach.” He huffs out a laugh, a smile spreading across his face when he brushes his fingers through your hair so that he can pull you into a long, lustful kiss. You glide your nails down his back, shifting your pelvis up against his as a teasing reply. “Mmmmm.” Crowley grinds against you in return, his softened cock still inside, and it scrapes torturously against oversensitive nerves. “I do believe I interrupted your sleep just now, didn’t I?” You smile at the playful sarcasm from your King, and then he gently pulls out and shifts so that he’s lying against your left side. You lay pliant and limber on the bed with no response, because your mind is still blown and not quite ready to form sentences.

Jesus you’re exhausted. You will never complain about that kind of wakeup call, no matter how tired or how much you love sleep, but you didn’t realize how taxing it would be. Crowley’s head is propped up by one hand while his other runs tenderly up and down your arm, and he’s watching you. Your eyelids are heavy; your body is languid, movements thick and clumsy as you shift into a more comfortable position. You should go clean up, yup, you really should, but the bed feels so amazingly comfortable. You’ll get up in a minute; you just want to lay here for a little longer. “Hmmm…” Crowley hums in approval as a satisfied grin tugs at his lips. “You should rest now, pet.” You really should get up…. But you don’t. “Sweet dreams.” Mmmmm sweet dreams indeed. Your lids fall shut, the unconscious world of sleep taking over before you can muster up the energy to move, and you fall asleep to the feel of Crowley’s fingers gently disappearing from your skin.

<<< >>>

There are no dreams of your monster; no crimson rooms, leather, or fire, and there is no Crowley when you open your eyes to sunlight streaming in through the mostly closed curtains. Your body is pleasantly numb as you yawn and stretch, your face is still scrunched up against the bright light of day, but you power through the adjustment of your eyes so you can look for any sign of your demon. He’s nowhere in sight, and you battle between relief and disappointment. You’re sad because you hoped to wake up in his arms again, not necessarily like you did last night, but it would have been nice; on the other hand, you’re glad you didn’t because you feel completely wrecked and in need of a shower. You slide off the bed, snagging your robe off the floor where Crowley let it drop, and you head towards the window as you wrap it around you with a sleepy moan.

You squint as you pull one curtain to the side. There is no sign of Crowley outside your window either, but then again, it’s kind of a silly place to look; on the other hand, the view is breathtaking. You roll your shoulders, trying to loosen the dull ache that’s slowly setting in as you drop the curtain back in place and head towards the bathroom for a quick look. He’s not there either, not that you thought he would be, but you still had to check. As you head over to pluck Mr. Cuddles from his almost forgotten spot on the floor near the couch, you glance around at the room, absently wondering who’s going to clean up all the candles that have melted down to stubby piles of mush into the carpet. Ironic how something so romantic, sultry, and amazing can look so dreadful the next morning, but you can’t help but hope that he’ll do that again sometime.

All of your stuff is one room over, but you hesitate before opening the door to the hallway, and you’re not sure why. It swings open on silent hinges and when you step into the hallway, you understand why you hesitated. You hug your dragon tight because the empty expanse of desolation is almost suffocating, and creepy shivers crawl up your skin. Your herding instincts sense that there’s no one around for miles, which is not something your body is used to feeling. You want desperately to duck back into the room, to close the door on the emptiness and go back to that feeling of false security. Who knew that you needed the general proximity of humans so much, it’s unnerving. You make a B line for the other room, which thankfully is only a few steps away; and when the door is securely closed behind you, an unwarranted sigh of relief escapes your lips. Stop being weird. It’s not like you haven’t been in an empty building before… but this is different; it’s like being stranded on a mountaintop and there is no one for miles to hear you scream. Ha. You’re Rapunzel, locked in a gilded cage.

Don’t be silly. Crowley isn’t holding you here against your will; it’s painfully obvious that he’s not. You know without a doubt that all you had to do at any point is say you wanted to leave and Cliff would be at the front gate with the limo warm and waiting. But you stayed; you chose to be with him, the Beast to your Beauty. Well you certainly woke up on the Disney side of the bed this morning; life isn’t a movie. You should be basking in the afterglow of one of the most carnal and mind blowing days of your life; instead you’re spinning strange threads of thought into stranger versions of reality. You roll your eyes at yourself, pushing away from the door to head towards the bathroom. You need a shower, badly. You toss the stuffed dragon on the bed, wiping another wisp of sleep from your left eye as you flip on the bathroom light. You wonder what kind of travesty your hair is, as you turn towards the mirror. You freeze, your eyes going wide as you take in your own reflection.

Christ! Your skin…. What happened? You lean in close, crowding in against the mirror over the sink so you can get a better look. You’re neck is a mottled display of marks and bruises. You twist your head one direction, then the other, awestruck by the sheer quantity. Friday night was when he left his first mark on you, and you’ve worn it with pride ever since, along with all the rest he’s given you, but this… You bring your hand up to shift the robe and are startled to see bruises running in a spiral along your arm down to where they pool in a sickening greenish yellow mass at your wrists. When did…..? Oh. You remember every bite, nibble, and lick of Crowley’s mouth as he worshiped your skin, and you remember the snaking tendrils of red power as they held you to the dining room chair, in the air, down on the bed, and up against the window. You remember his hand, powerful and sultry, wrapped around your throat while you melted at his touch. It didn’t hurt though, none of it really hurt at all, so why, how…

Sick curiosity compels you to close the bathroom door so you can see yourself in the full-length mirror fastened to it’s back. Your ankles look much like your wrists and you’re a little hesitant to untie your robe, but you do it anyways. Holy shit there are handprints on your hips! You twist and spin in front of the mirror, taking in every bruise, hickie, and mark; and you can’t help but wonder why none of them hurt. You’re whole body looks like you’ve been in a bar fight; even your ears are tinted red and your lip has a bump where Crowley bit you… twice. You don’t pay attention to how long you stare at yourself, and you’re still sorting out how to feel about the level of marked territory your King has left on your skin, but you come to the conclusion that a shower will make things better.

The water is hot and cleansing, and it helps numb the faint dull ache that’s been with you since you got out of bed. The pain isn’t topical, it’s deep seeded, like your insides are distantly pulsing with pain; it’s only mildly uncomfortable, so you brush it off as over-exertion. You certainly did exert yourself yesterday, a lot. You stand under the water, reliving last night’s shower with Crowley, and then your mind wanders further down the path of memory, highlighting everything he’s done to you in the last two days and visa versa. You try and count the number of times. Friday was just a tease, but you count it anyways; so was your little attempt on the bench outside, but you count that one too. All the rest… the massage room, lunch, the kitchen, multiple times in the shower and bedroom; holy crap, its no wonder you feel fatigued.

Honestly though, you really don’t feel all that bad despite the immense amount of sex you’ve had in so little time. Yesterday alone is putting your time at the bunker to shame, and all you’re feeling is just a bit of tiredness and a touch sore. Maybe the boys have increased your stamina; they certainly are tenacious, and maybe Crowley just did the same thing. You smile at the absurdity of that thought, and now that the shock of seeing all those marks has worn off, you kinda don’t mind them, a strange sort of pride warming your insides as you slide soap along your marked skin. You can’t help but smile brighter, thinking of each one as a trophy; a testament of your monsters need for you. Yeah, you’re a little fucked up, but that’s ok, because there’s no one around to judge you but yourself; speaking of no one around, where is Crowley anyways?

The bathroom is a hazy cloud of steam when you turn off the water, which means you can’t really see your reflection as you towel off. All that does is keep your face and neck from inspection as your eyes roam over your own skin while sliding the towel along your body. You can still see the marks, none of them washed away by soap and water, and deep down there is tiny part of you that is terrified by that, yet arousal and pride are at the forefront, drowning everything else out. You wipe a circle on the mirror so you can see to brush your hair after giving it a good towel-dry. The tangles are out, but you give zero F’s about doing anything else with it, so you move on to brushing your teeth. After that you grab a fresh robe, flip off the bathroom light, and wander out into the room towards the wall of drawn curtains.

Let’s see if you can find your monster. With the belt of your robe cinched up tight, you haul on the curtain cords and the fabric flutters open to reveal a brilliantly sunny day. You stand in front of the window, eyes shifting everywhere they can to soak up the view that you’ll never ever get tired of looking at; then you close them, breathing out a concentrated sigh. You’re not sure why you had to open the curtains, maybe symbolism or something… nah, you just can’t get enough of that view and the sun feels pleasantly warm on your face while you stand there facing the window. You take a deep breath before delving into your own mind, focusing inward and searching out your connection with Crowley. Ah, there they are, in a neat little row within your minds eye are four ethereal threads flowing delicately outward in gentle ripples.

A flash of heat rolls through you when you pluck at the first one, mmmmm Dean. Not who you were looking for, but you don’t mind the quiver of lust that tingles your body when you connect with him for just a moment. It’s fitting that he’s first in line; first kiss wins first place after all. You smile, letting out a silent moan as you stroke it gently, and you wonder if he can feel it. You’re getting better at this; better at controlling this strange gift that was thrust upon you. All of your connections used to be just thin spider-silk threads that tickled at your mind like a gossamer wisp, but over the last month it’s been changing. Sam and Dean’s have changed the most and its probably because of the time Sam called, being vague and ominous about a job they were on. Your worry pressed you into expanding the connection with them so you knew they were ok, forcing things open so you could make sure nothing happened without you knowing about it. The job turned out to be a pretty close call, but they came out of it ok, and you came away with a sturdier connection with both of them.

You try not to intrude on the boys, because duh, but every now and then it’s nice to tug on the threads so you can feel their presence; it’s so comforting. It’s always a struggle to leave Dean’s thread alone, but you’re currently on a mission, so you make yourself stop. You don’t mind too much though because certainly the next one in line is Sam’s. You have no intention of leaving him out, so you run a mental finger along the connection, basking in the comforting heat of Sam’s affection just because you can. Mmmmm, they both fill your mind for a moment, echoes of Dean mixing in with the fresh feel of Sam, and its magnificent. Reluctantly, you pull away so you can focus again, trying to get back to the task at hand by moving down the line.

You’re certain that Castiel’s thread is next in your mental order of things because of the faint blue haze shimmering along it’s length. You pause, staring at the gossamer line within your mind and you’re suddenly self-conscious, tentative, and almost afraid to touch it; because, Castiel feels just as unobtainable as Crowley used to be. While being the King of Hell is impressive, towing the title of Angel of the Lord carries equal weight. Suddenly you’re whole body stiffens and you suck in a sharp breath, mentally backing away from the untouched blue thread. He’s an angel, an ANGEL! You’ve been consorting, fornicating, and otherwise defiling yourself in the most intimate of ways with the demon King of Hell; what would an angel think of that? You cringe away further from Castiel’s thread, a stab of fear and shame pulsing through you as you stare at its flowing length.

You’ve got to get away from it because suddenly your mind feels dirty, like you’re covered in filth and the sapphire line could so easily be soiled. You spot Crowley’s thread, crimson and pulsing, and you mentally clamber to grab hold of it. Castiel and those uncomfortable feelings are immediately pushed from your thoughts, replaced by fire, lust, pride, and pleasure. He’s nearby; your monster is very close, and your muscles loosen with a shiver of pleasure as it pulses against your mind. Thoughts of the other three are swept away as you stroke the connection, gently forcing it wider. You wonder if he’s in the kitchen again, using the skills that master chef Renaldo taught him. Hours of talking with him last night revealed that Renaldo did indeed fix Friday’s dinner, but Crowley put in a lot of effort making all the other delicious meals and snacks. You remember blushing hard at that confession, awed and humbled that he would take the time to do that when he characteristically wouldn’t give it the time of day. Crowley claimed he wanted to keep his skills sharp; claimed that it had been fifty years or so since he’d cooked like that, and he wanted to make sure he still could. You smile at that thin excuse and then you stroke the crimson line again.

An answering wave of lust filled heat instantly washes over your body, making you moan audibly. Mmmmm your demon knows you’re looking for him. You run your mind along its length once more and your knees almost give out with the answering strobe of heat. You let go of the connection because it’s overpowering; escaping from your mind and leaving the threads untouched as they cling to your racing heart. Your face is flushed and you’re body is trembling with anticipation; yet the expanse of mountains outside your window looks the same, pristine and serene. This is your last day with Crowley, and you wonder what he’s planning. Betty booked your flight for late this evening and there will be some travel time from here to the airport, but there is so much he could accomplish before any of that… oh so much. Your body flushes hot at the thought, and you rest your forehead against the window while you start to list all the things you might find yourself getting into before you leave today.

Lost in thought, you almost don’t register the gentle rustle behind you. A smile spreads wide across your face as you turn to greet your King, wanting nothing more than to give him an enthusiastic good morning. Those words die on your lips, your joy evaporating. The smile melts from your face instantly when your eyes lock on the man standing in your room. “Hello.” Always the same deadpan gravely voice. You don’t respond; instead you take a step back, feeling caught, like a kid with her hand stuck in the cookie jar. Castiel!? Shit! His eyes are roaming around the room, “I sensed you.” They’re taking in the surroundings. Why Castiel, why here, why now? “I forgot to call first but I….” The angel stops mid-sentence when his eyes finally land on you. You see his entire body tense and he instantly strides forward, entering your personal space and laying a hand on your shoulder in the span of a breath. You flinch; you’re not sure why, but he’s become so intense, making you choke on your thoughts and leaving you speechless.

“Who did this to you?” Did what? Oh. You blush and try to step back, but the window is directly behind you, and Castiel only comes in closer, placing his hands on your shoulders in earnest concern. “Are you ok? Talk to me, please?” Words finally find their way out of your throat and you stutter out that its ok, it’s nothing bad. “Nothing bad?” The angel scans your body; his eyes intense and assessing while his hands stay on your shoulders like hot vices. You suddenly feel incredibly naked, even though your robe is still cinched up tight and you try again to move back, and again, the window remains unyielding. “This is very bad. I’m surprised you are able to stand. Now who did this to you?” His voice raises, worry bubbling up to mix in with the gravel. What’s he talking about? You’re fine, a little bruised sure, but perfectly fine. You search his face, and then glance at the door, desperately hoping that Crowley will NOT walk in; that would be very very bad right now.

Again, you tell Castiel that everything’s ok, it was just Crowley, and he…. “What!?” Castiel cuts your sentence short, and you can feel the righteous fire burning in his eyes as he switches from concern to anger. Shit! Why did you say his name? “Crowley did this?” You stutter again, telling him no, then yes, then begging him to hold on. Castiel ignores you, closing his eyes to concentrate for a moment, his hands still holding on with earnest strength. “He’s still here.” It’s a statement of fact that cuts off your stumbling explanation. The angel looks around the room quickly, then without warning he pulls you in tight to his chest in a protective hug. You tell him to wait, hold on, stop; but he ignores you, glancing towards the door and out the window in search of adversaries. Before you can fight his hold on you, Castiel squeezes tighter, his whole body tensing even further, and you hear the flutter of invisible wings and everything turns blindingly white.

 

<<< >>>

Its like being pulled through the eye of a needle. Disorienting compression, akin to being pressed into a thin line at the speed of light. Then it stops, just as quickly as it started, and you’re left gasping for air and the world tilting like an amusement ride. What in the hell just happened? Lights are flashing in your vision, despite having your eyes closed, and all you can register is the sound of wings and the feel of something, no, someone pressed hot and firm against you. You cling to him, afraid that the world will throw you into space if you let go, and thankfully, his arms stay protectively wrapped around you.

“What tha… Cas?” Dean? That’s Dean’s voice, but it can’t be. You hear chairs scraping across a wooden floor and two sets of heavy footsteps headed across that same floor, then down some steps and into the same room. “Is everything ok? Did something happen?” Sam’s voice is laced with concern as it draws closer; they’re always together, those two. You’re in the bunker, that’s got to be where you are. It feels like the bunker; you’re in the control room, with stairs leading up to the entrance and the archway leading into the library behind you. Oh no! No, no, no, no, no, no, he took you to the bunker! You push away from Castiel, still using him to steady yourself as the world finally settles into its normal rotation around the sun. There are still splotches of color in your vision when your eyes open to meet cool blue orbs staring back at you. A moment passes, suspended in time where you just stare at each other, nothing being said, yet a million things thought; then Castiel breaks the moment by stepping back while pushing you out to arms length. Your hands slide off his shoulders while his arms snap to his sides, stiff and unfriendly; his body goes rigid, his stance one of discomfort. Why?

You don’t have time to think about it further, because Sam and Dean are in your space in the next heartbeat while Castiel stands at a respectful distance, a statue in the background. Confused, you continue to stare into those blue eyes a moment more before turning to see the concerned look on Dean’s face as he runs his fingers gently down your neck. “Jesus Christ! What in the hell happened?” Sam is tenderly holding your right arm in silence, gently inspecting the spiral of bruises that pool into a mass at your wrist, but his jaw is set and his eyes are somewhere between distress and anger. Shit, shit shit! No! You’re screaming inside your head, unsure of what expression is on your face while you look around at the three men you care deeply for. You can’t be here right now. You don’t WANT to be here right now. Oh God, Crowley! You look back towards the man, the being, who brought you here. Don’t tell them Castiel. They won’t understand. Don’t you dare tell them his name! You stare at the angel, you’re eyes pleading, begging him not to say a single word.

Castiel meets you’re gaze for a moment and then his eyes drop; confusion, concern, and something unreadable molding his features into a sad yet angry frown. “Cas!” Dean’s voice is an annoyed stab in the silence as he looks from the angel, to you, and back again. Cas shifts uncomfortably, his body language rolling through momentary apprehension, then concern, and finally settling on rage. He’s made some sort of internal decision and a sudden creeping fear rises up in you, hammering your heart and chocking off your air. No! His eyes begin to shimmer with a brilliant unnatural blue; you know that look, that pure embodiment of righteous furry. No! No, no no no no! You break the silence, your voice pleading pathetically when you beg Castiel not to hurt him. You dare not say his name, they can’t know. You pull away from Sam and Dean, stepping towards the angel while he stands there terrifying as fuck, and you beg; please don’t Cas, please don’t hurt him, you don’t understand.

You can’t see it, but you can sense the confusion from the Winchesters as they stand dumfounded behind you. Dean, ever the impatient one, prods again, “Hurt who?” You stare at the angel and he stares back at you. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Dean is yelling now and you see it on the angel’s face; that single tick of emotion, he’s going to say it. God no, don’t do it. Don’t! “CROWLEY!” That name rolls out of Castiel like roaring thunder, and then just as quickly he’s gone, leaving nothing but the furious sound of turbulent wings to echo in the wake of stunned silence.

You go limp, dropping to the floor next to the huge self-lit table in frustrated terror. No, no, no. Please don’t hurt him; please don’t. Tears stream down your face with abandon as sobs rack your body. Dean is by your side immediately, on the floor pulling you into an awkward hug, rocking you as he runs his hand across your hair in a soothing motion. “Hey?” He gives you a little squeeze while you feel him shift his gaze up to Sam, whose still rooted in place. “Come on girl. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. What did Crowley do?” He didn’t do anything! Another futile scream inside your head as you lay sprawled in Dean’s arms. The bunker is silent, except for your sobbing and Dean’s gentle shushing and you realize that there’s no point in trying to hide it now, there probably was never a chance of hiding it anyways and they deserve to know what’s going on. You aren’t ashamed of what you did… but yet… you are. It’s horrifying and confusing and you don’t want to be here, you don’t want to do this.

It takes a minute to choke back the tears, terror still hot and bitter in your throat as you sit up and face Dean, wiping the tears away with jittery fingers while you try and collect yourself. You don’t meet his gaze; you wonder if you ever will again, and your mind is already mourning the loss of those emerald orbs looking at you with fondness. You start out simple, at the beginning, telling them everything… ok, not everything, but once you start talking it’s like a waterfall of rambling words. You explain that you won a free trip, which they already knew, and that everything was going great until you found Crowley waiting on you to join him for dinner. He made conversation, telling you he set up the whole thing, just so he could get you alone. You pause because that doesn’t sound at all like you want it to. Shit. You press on anyways, being very vague because you’re uncertain how to describe everything that happened after that, and how do you begin to explain the way you feel.

The connection; they don’t know about the connection! In a hurried burst of self-conscious confession, you tell them both that he’s connected to you just like they are, just like Cas is too. You have no idea of their reaction to that, because you’re eyes are faithfully studying the dent in the floor near Dean’s leg. You explain that it happened when Crowley (you stutter through his name, afraid to say it) kissed you in the warehouse, before Castiel locked away that strange and powerful side effect of the gatekeeper spell. You continue by telling them that once you were together… well, there is no way to fight it; there just isn’t. They should know, because they’ve experienced it firsthand. You stop; afraid to say any more and the silence is oppressive and intimidating.

You finally muster up the courage to look up into Dean’s eyes, craving understanding and compassion; you open the link between you with tentative hope that things will be ok. You flinch because there is no compassion in his eyes, no understanding, only indignant furry. There is a profound smoldering outrage aimed at everything; a bitterness directed towards the world in general and no one person in particular. Dean’s eyes are icy green, chips of emerald with the heat of rage burning beneath. You drop your gaze, shrinking back and tucking into yourself because he has every right to be mad; you should have told them both, should have told all three of them actually. He has every right to focus the rage on you, he _should_ focus his anger on you because you’re to blame, and you wait for him to realize that as the silence builds.

A moment passes, then another, two sets of eyes boring into you while your body aches with guilt and humiliation. Then in a burst of smooth fluid motion, Dean comes up off the floor and grabs a nearby chair that’s been tucked up against the table, “Son of a bitch!” An inflamed bellow of emotion roars out of him as he throws the chair across the room with a two handed heave. It crashes against the wall by the foot of the entrance stairs and then clatters sideways onto the floor. It lays motionless except for one wheel that swings haphazardly back and forth, and even that comes to a stop a moment later. Dean stands there staring at the chair, his back to you while his fists clench and unclench. You’re eyes are glued to Dean; unsure of whether he will take his wrath out on another piece of furniture or perhaps turn to the source of his fury and come for you.

“It’s not your fault.” He’s barely audible, and you suck in a breath, realizing that the connection between you and Dean is still wide open. “I get it, I do.” His voice sounds small, far away, but you feel the truth behind those words. You watch as the fury melts from him, defeat etched into his stance as he runs a hand down his face before turning to look at you. A tiny piece of you is relieved that he understands, but it does nothing to make you feel better. All the other emotions drown out that puny spark of solace, and you can’t look at him, you can’t look at Dean. “But I…” He doesn’t finish, his sentence dying away to nothing, and your eyes drop to the floor because he looks so hurt, like a wounded puppy someone just drop kicked into a rainstorm. Jesus, this wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You bury your face, wanting nothing more than to disappear, rewind time… anything to make this go away.

“Did you enjoy it?” Your whole body goes stiff because Sam’s voice sounds lifeless from behind you, an echo of what it should be. Dean’s little outburst distracted you from the second angry man in the room and fear suddenly claws its way back under your skin. You don’t want to answer the question; how in the fuck _would_ anyone answer that question? “Sammy?” Dean’s voice is cautionary, suddenly full of concern. You feel Sam’s burning gaze shift from you to Dean and you remain still, your face still buried, afraid to move. Dean takes a step towards you, almost protective. “Come on man, you don’t ask that kind of question.” You keep the connection between you and Sam shut down, because you’re suddenly terrified of the simmering mountain standing behind you, but you can’t help but keep Dean’s open, feeding him your fear, guilt, and misery.

Silence reigns for what seems like forever, you on the floor, Dean’s eyes locked on Sam, and Sam’s locked on you; you could cut the tension with a knife. Then suddenly it changes, the room thaws and you hear Sam let out a burst of air, easing everything back into a more manageable level of discomfort. You lift your head, looking up at Dean and then turning towards Sam. He shifts, still tense from holding in unnamable emotions, and it seems like every vein in his body is bulging and throbbing against tightly strained muscle. Sam’s hands are clenched into hard fists, those beautiful fingers curled into violent balls, and when you finally meet his gaze, something in him shifts. A look of absolute emotional pain ghosts across his face and then it pulls into an expressionless mask just before he looks away, his hair cascading into a curtain, hiding it from view. His voice is no less icy when he asks a different question, “Did he force you to do this?” You flinch, afraid to answer, but more afraid not to.

You feel Dean stiffen behind you, because he can feel the answer rolling across the thread before you faintly admit out loud that no, he didn’t force you to do any of it. Sam’s body hardens, his face a perfect mask of non-emotion; then he hangs his head and shoves his hands into his pockets before turning and walking out of the room in silence. You look up at Dean as Sam is leaving, fresh tears beginning to flow as a piece of your heart walks away from you. Desperate, you move to get up, to somehow make this right, and you cry out in pain, collapsing down onto the floor before you’re even halfway up.

You’re torso is suddenly screaming in pain, each lungful of air scorching fire through every nerve and you groan, clutching blindly at your tortured chest. You curl in on yourself as a wash of agony slowly sets your body alight from your toes to the tips of your hair. Even your goddamned hair hurts! “Sammy!” Dean’s voice is dripping with fear as he rushes to your side and you hear Sam’s footsteps thundering towards you, no hint of anger in his movements now. It feels like every molecule in your body has been doused in gasoline and set ablaze. Aching in a burning sea of pain, you barely register Dean on his knees beside you, his strong hands hoisting you into his lap so he can hold on to you. “Baby, you ok?” You’re not, it’s blatantly obvious that you’re not, and your hand clenches his shirt in a death grip when another wave of lacerating torment rolls through you, making you writhe in his arms.

“What’s wrong with her Dean? What did you do?” Sam’s icy silence has melted, replaced by terrified angry concern. “I didn’t do anything man.” Dean brushes hair out of your face, his eyes searching for the source of your pain and finding nothing but what he’s already seen. “She just… I don’t know man.” He’s rocking you with a worried rhythm and it only makes things worse, every motion building pain on top of more pain, but you can’t find words; screams are the only thing available as you gasp and sob. Every bruise burns like searing embers against your skin; your sex feels raw and ravaged, and your chest continues to flare mind bending pain through you with every breath. Exhaustion is overtaking you like a suffocating blanket, your body unable to process this level of hellish agony. You feel oblivion creeping up, your vision going dark, threatening unconsciousness. You fight it, cringing from fresh layers of injury as you reach up so your hand is on Dean’s cheek. Your vision is a blur but you can see that he looks so worried, so upset, so lost.

Christ it hurts so bad. It’s indescribable and you can’t take much more; but you can’t pass out yet. Sam and Dean can hate you when you wake up, but right now you’ve got to tell them… you’ve got to make sure. You lock eyes with Dean as best you can, making sure his full attention is on you, and you’re voice comes out in a strangled rasp when you tell him not to hurt Crowley. “What?” His angry surprise is expected and you say it again, this time the words dribble from your lips in a quiet sigh when you say, please promise that you won’t hurt Crowley, please don… The darkness overtakes you before you’re finished and the pain slowly fades away to a dull memory as the sweet release of darkness envelopes you. Nothing hurts in this place of nothingness. Being unconscious certainly has its perks.

 

END  
This concludes Part One of Twisted Paths  
and I hope you liked the surprisingly sultry sexy Demon King of Hell  
I'd love to hear your feedback, so don't hesitate to leave a comment

Coming Soon: Twisted Paths Part Two, Every Time a Bell Rings  
We shall see what happens between you and Castiel

Thanks for reading


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